


Crusaders 2: Trial By Ordeal

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Crusaders AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anglo-Saxon, Big Bang Challenge, Canon-Typical Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Episode: s01e09 Home, Episode: s02e21 All Hell Breaks Loose, F/M, Latin, Non-graphic description of Viking atrocities, SPNBigBang_Era | Supernatural Period Piece Challenge, period-typical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27773893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: With the angels and the Colt gone back to the future, it looks like all Hell is out for revenge on Dean and Samuel. Will the family survive this ordeal and keep history on the right track?
Relationships: Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Series: Crusaders AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2029729





	1. THEN

**Author's Note:**

> Note on potential spoilers: These stories were completed months ago. There's a plot point in the epilogue that could have been Jossed by 8.12... had it not spawned a plotbunny for "Crusaders 4." No ETA on that one, but I expect not to get to it until fall. Until then, just know that the potentially Jossed point does still work.
> 
> _Addendum 11/29/2020: "Crusaders 4" is not likely now to ever happen, but the basic idea was that the men of Dean's line, at least through Henry and probably including Sam and Jess, were lay Dominicans as well as Men of Letters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip this chapter if you've just read "Crusaders"--it had been over a year between the first installment and this one, so I'd thought readers might need the recap.

_All things considered, Sir John of Winchester had a pretty good life._

_His forefathers had been thegns and ealdormenn of the greatest Saxon kings, from Ælle to Alfred, and it was in service to the latter that the family had moved to Wintanceaster. Though the family’s fortunes plummeted under Æthelred and Canute, John’s grandfather somehow managed not only to survive the Battle of Hastings but also to keep his land, albeit as a mere baron. Both William and William Rufus had looked kindly on both Winchester and John’s family, and though William had assigned governing authority to a Norman overlord, the barony stayed with the family until at last it passed to John. And once John was of age, he joined King Henry in the Scottish wars and gained not only a friendship with the king but also a small fortune and a Pictish bride._

* * *

_Ten years of wedded bliss sped by.... Sir John was content with his life as a gentleman farmer, and he had many friends and both spent and gave gifts with equal wisdom, thanks in no small part to Lady Mary. And Lady Mary herself was well loved by all. She was more apt than Sir John to grace the cathedral with her presence on holy days, but even he would sometimes join her for no other reason than to make her smile._

_Some in the town did begin to murmur when, after five years, the union remained fruitless. Yet the next five years saw Lady Mary bear Sir John two fine sons, and she seemed content to bear him twenty more._

_But everything changed on All Souls’ Day of 1125._

* * *

_In August of 1147, [now-outlawed] John of Winchester disappeared._

_Dean was none too concerned at first. John was always disappearing for days, even weeks, at a time, leaving Dean to carry on his errantry alone. And as long as there was a baron around whose ill-gotten gains Dean could steal with impunity, all was as well as could be expected given the general lawlessness of the time. But in every other case, John would leave word somewhere or send a letter to wherever Dean was, or else one of his friends would fetch Dean to help get John sobered up and onto the next hunt. The latter had become all the more common since Samuel had run away to enter the Abbey of Rievaulx when he was 18 after a flaming row with John._

_This time, however, there was no message after Lammastide. By mid-September, Dean began to worry. When no word came after Michaelmas, he began to search actively, to no avail. Other hunts kept cropping up throughout October, and the few chances he had to ask after John were fruitless. But finding himself in Yorkshire as the month drew to a close, Dean decided the time had come to enlist help._

_So on the eve of All Saints’, Dean stood at the gate of Rievaulx Abbey and asked for Brother Samuel._

* * *

_Suddenly there were two other men standing on either side of Samuel, also robed in Cistercian white, though they seemed... brighter, somehow. As he realized what they must be, Dean’s eyes went wide, and he sank to his knees, crossing himself._

_“Pray you, stand and fear not,” said the shorter, brown-haired angel as the dark-haired angel grabbed hold of Dean’s left shoulder and pulled him back to his feet._

_“Sammy?” Dean asked._

_“St. Gabriel, St. Castiel,” Samuel replied, pointing to each angel in turn. “’Twas they who brought me hither.”_

_“But... but_ why?! _Of all the cares in England of late, why do ye come for ours?”_

_“Your care is greater than you know,” said St. Gabriel grimly. “It is not true that this land is forsaken of God, but your own case is harder still. We need you two to help us stop the end of the world.”_

_Dean just stared in shock. Samuel raised an eyebrow at him._

* * *

_“Morning, campers,” Gabriel said cheerfully when Dean cracked an eye open. “We’d better get this over with so we can get on the road after breakfast.”_

_Both brothers groaned as they sat up. “Ought we not break our fast first?” Samuel asked._

_“Need not. C’mon, both of you.” He picked up a piece of wood and a steel rod and walked away._

_Dean groaned again as Samuel helped him to his feet. He was not looking forward to trying out this new weapon without having eaten._

_Gabriel led them a short distance from the camp before snapping his fingers. A target appeared, though it seemed to be made of parchment over a board and was colored roughly in the shape of a man. The target rings marked distances from points on the head and chest that would be fatal arrow wounds._

_“Is’t a bow, then?” Dean frowned._

_“Close,” Gabriel replied._

_Then he looked hard at the rod and the wood, and they joined together and changed shape to form [the likeness of] a very odd weapon indeed. The wood had become a bell-shaped handle, and the metal... well, there was a long eight-sided tube, and a part with five filled chambers that looked like it turned, and a lever at the back that, when pulled down a little, caused another lever to spring forth at the front. When Gabriel handed it to him, Dean noted words marked on the barrel and a pentagram on the handle._

_“_ Non timebo mala _,” Samuel read over Dean’s shoulder. “—Should be_ malum _, surely?”_

_Gabriel shrugged. “I didn’t write it. I think the man who made it was not familiar with the Vulgate.”_

_Samuel nodded thoughtfully._

_Dean studied the thing for a few moments longer before shaking his head. “What is it?”_

_“It’s called a gun,” said Gabriel. “Here, let me show you how it works.”_

* * *

_Once the seven travelers were in Bethlehem, setting up the trap took a little under an hour. The room of the abandoned storehouse that they were using was large enough that even with the candles that John would have to light to complete the summoning, the sides of the room would remain in darkness. Samuel and Dean were to stand in opposite corners, while Father Seamus and Robert were in the other two; Gabriel stood to one side, and Castiel sat in the rafters with a piece of ironwork that Gabriel had crafted. Castiel had already entrusted the real gun to Dean’s care, and he knew that he need not leave his hiding place to shoot Azazel with it. John, of course, was in the center of the room and would not stand so that Dean would have a clear shot...._

_“So, John,” said Azazel, his brimstone eyes and mocking smile hideous in the candlelight. “We meet again at last.”_

_“Aye,” John answered wearily. “At last.”_

_From his hiding place, Dean could just make out Father Seamus closing one of the gaps in the trap chalked on the floor. Robert, he knew, was doing the same on his side of the trap, and Castiel was lowering the ironwork—another trap, far harder for a devil to break—into place overhead. But he could hear no sound but Azazel’s footfalls as he circled John._

_“Thou art many things, John of Winchester,” the devil said. “But I did not think thee fey.”_

_John snorted. “Not though thy vassals beat me ’til I scarce knew my own name?”_

_Azazel laughed. “Beaten and broken is one thing. But to summon me thus? That I do call fey. Think thou that thou canst do aught against me in this state? ’Twould take a stronger man than thou to trap me.”_

_“Nay.” John sounded utterly defeated. “I would fain treat with thee.”_

_“Indeed?”_

_“Aye. Thou hast not my sons, I know, but... I would give thee aught to leave them be. To cease thy search and let them live.”_

_“Prithee, what wouldst thou give?”_

_“I... have learned of aught that can kill thee. A weapon. ’Tis that I offer.”_

_Azazel laughed again, loud and long, and Dean had to stop himself from shooting the fiend then and there. If all went according to plan, he would have a better shot later._

_Finally, Azazel stopped laughing. “There is no weapon that can kill me, John. Thou hast my terms—thy life for thy sons’. What sayest thou?”_

_And a voice that was not John’s said, “_ Exorcisamus te _....”_

_The devil lurched. “Who said that?”_

_Samuel stepped out of his hiding place, slowly reciting the exorcism. Azazel lunged toward him and struck the edge of the iron trap, but his attention was drawn first to the chalk trap below him. He tried to scuff at the lines, but the chalk would not erase, thanks to Gabriel._

_Finally, Azazel snarled and reached a hand toward Samuel, choking him and lifting him off the ground with unseen force. “Think thou, little monk, that thou canst send me back to Hell so easily? ’Twould take but the slightest force to break thy neck, and little more to break this trap—a small earthquake would suffice.”_

_Dean took aim and pulled back the hammer as quietly as he could._

_“Let him go,” John pleaded. “Take my life in his stead.”_

_Azazel chuckled, not taking his eyes from Samuel. “Why, John, what is to prevent me from killing you_ both _?”_

_Dean squeezed the trigger._

* * *

  
_Thegn_ = thane, a more senior retainer than a _cniht_ (knight), a term that has more youthful connotations  
_ Ealdormann _ = alderman, a high position of authority but not necessarily hereditary in the way an earldom would be  
_ Wintanceaster _ – This was the name of the city prior to the Conquest (spelling per _Introduction to Old English_ by Peter S. Baker).


	2. NOW: Chapter 1: Welcome Back, Cotter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: chapter title: Pun, not typo. A cotter or cottager was a farmer who held a cottage for a feudal overlord.

_Oh, not again_ , Samuel thought as Azazel lashed out and pinned him to the wall by his throat, choking both him and the exorcism he was reciting. He did not fear for his life—Dean would not let the farce go that far—but why did spirits always seek to throttle him?!

The force that pressed about his throat and raised him from the ground was crushing, so much so that he could scarce draw breath, never mind continue speaking. He heard Azazel say aught, but the words seemed without meaning. Darkness licked like flames about the edges of his sight as John moaned some plea to the demon and Azazel made some mocking reply. It was all he could do to keep from clawing at the air in a bootless attempt to free himself.

And then there was a loud bang, and breath returned in a rush as the force vanished and Samuel fell. Dean’s aim had been true, it seemed, for Azazel cried out and staggered and fell as he burned from within as with hellfire. Robert ran to help Samuel to his feet, but Samuel, for all his labored gasping for air, could not take his eyes from Azazel until the last sparks faded and the demon lay dead.

“We need to get out of here,” Gabriel stated before anyone could react, and with a snap of his fingers, he carried them all back to their room at the inn in Nazareth.

“Art well, Samuel?” Robert asked.

Samuel shook his head and put a hand to his aching throat, unsure if he could speak.

Gabriel walked over and looked at Samuel’s throat. “Bruised larynx,” said he. “You’ll be all right; there’s no structural damage. It’ll hurt for a while, though, and try not to talk for a week.”

Samuel smiled a little at that. If there was one thing life at Rievaulx had taught him, it was how to keep silent.

“What is that thing, Dean?” John asked as Father Seamus helped him to his feet.

“No more of our concern, Father,” Dean replied and handed the gun to Castiel, who tucked it into his robe. “Mother is avenged; that is all we need know.”

John looked sour, but when Castiel turned to him with a look of challenge, he let the matter drop.

“Right,” said Gabriel. “Returning to England too soon would raise more questions than we can safely answer, especially for Samuel. So we should take our time getting back—take a couple of days to rest here in Nazareth, for starters.”

Samuel frowned, remembering how ill at ease Gabriel had been both here earlier in the day and in Bethlehem. But Gabriel saw and shook his head slightly, the way Dean often did when telling Samuel to leave something be. Samuel supposed from that that Gabriel’s concern for their ability to hide the truth of their mission was more important than his discomfiture over their location. So he sighed through his nose and made no further sign to inquire after Gabriel’s comfort.

 _And how is it that I should take thought for an angel’s cares?_ he thought wryly.

“Perchance tomorrow Dean and Samuel would join me on a short pilgrimage after Mass, as we had perforce to miss the Office today,” Father Seamus said. “We have seen but few of the holy sites in this town, and only in passing. John is not well enough, I know, and someone ought to stay with him—”

“I shall,” Robert interrupted. “We’ve some old _spellunga_ to finish.”[1]

“I’ve no need of a nurse-maid,” John grumbled, but no one was fooled.

Father Seamus smiled a bit and turned to Gabriel, who held up a hand. “Nay, ye children go on without me. No one needs to hear which church is in the wrong place!”

Samuel bit back a smile at that, and Dean laughed enough for both of them.

And even Castiel almost smiled. “I was elsewhere at the time, so I will explain none of those mysteries. But if Samuel is not to speak, he will need someone to interpret his signs.”

That was a fair point, and Samuel acknowledged it by raising his eyebrows. The Cistercians had developed a system of hand signs so that they might speak to one another without breaking silence, but as well as Dean knew Samuel, he did not know those signs.

Dean frowned. “Signs? What—what signs? Give him a slate. I can read, you know.”

Samuel decided to do penance later and made a sign Dean knew very well. Dean spluttered and called Samuel a Gaelic name that made Gabriel laugh, as did the name Samuel mouthed back. At Samuel’s raised eyebrow, Gabriel nodded—Dean’s offspring _would_ call each other those same names. Samuel snorted softly and shook his head in amusement.

Father Seamus caught his eye and mouthed “ _Te absolvo_ ” with a wink, which Samuel answered with a smile.

“Right, lads,” John growled. “Let’s to bed.”

There was a murmur of assent on all sides, and the men made ready to sleep while Castiel posted himself at the window to stand watch. But Gabriel caught Samuel by the elbow and leaned in close so the others could not overhear.

“Don’t worry about me,” he whispered gently. “I’ll be all right. But Samuel? Thanks.”

Samuel smiled a little and nodded, and Gabriel nodded back and released him. 

* * *

Gabriel’s jest made more sense the next day when Father Seamus took the brothers past St. Gabriel’s Church, where the Greeks held that Gabriel had appeared to St. Mary at Mary’s Well, on their way to Mass at the Basilica of the Annunciation, which Rome held to be the site of St. Joachim and St. Anna’s house. Castiel kept his face carefully neutral in both places.

But as they left the basilica, Dean leaned close to Samuel. “They cannot both be in the right place—but are they both wrong?”

“Yes, actually,” Castiel replied quietly enough that Father Seamus would not hear. “Mary did draw water at that well, but Gabriel did not appear to her there, and her parents’ house was on the other side of town.”[2]

Samuel bit his cheek hard to keep from laughing.

The remainder of the tour was less controversial, though, and Samuel was glad they had chosen to stay another day. When they returned to the inn, Gabriel declared that they should make the trip a full week long, which Dean decided gave him and Samuel a day to go to the market to choose gifts for Ellen and Joanna, both trinkets for them and supplies of wine and spices for the inn that they could not have afforded else, and a final day to rest. Rare hunting supplies they found as well, and Samuel selected a fine but plain olivewood cross to present to the abbey. Castiel came with them again to serve as their interpreter, which occasionally resulted in some awkward conversations when someone tried to speak directly to Samuel and Castiel had to intervene. But at least the tale Castiel told of Samuel being waylaid by ruffians both explained his throat and was mostly true. He had, after all, been assailed by Turkish slavers in Damascus.

“Your pardon, Castiel,” Dean said quietly as they returned to the inn, “but why do you and Gabriel not heal Samuel and Father now?”

Castiel sighed. “I know not how much to explain, but because we have come so far, our power is limited. We have still to return you all to England and ourselves to our own time. Neither of us is sure that we can spare the power needed to heal either Samuel or John. But the wounds will heal well enough with mortal medicine.”

Dean nodded, clearly disappointed.

They turned into an alley then that led back to the inn, and as soon as they were out of sight of the street, Castiel stopped them. “There is one thing I would fain do for you both, though. Your tale is not yet at an end. So by your leave, I would place a mark on you that shall grant you a measure of protection.”

Dean and Samuel looked at each other and shrugged. “Very well,” Dean replied.

Castiel raised two fingers and pressed them to Dean’s breast, on the left side between the collarbone and the heart. Dean gasped and rubbed at the spot when Castiel removed his hand. Then Castiel did the same to Samuel, and Samuel hissed at the brief sharp pain that spread about the spot. When Castiel had removed his hand, Samuel pulled aside his collar far enough to catch a glimpse of the mark upon his skin; sable it was, and of an odd design. Had he to blazon it, he might have called it a _pentangle within a roundel pierced and rayonnant_ —but even that would not quite do the sigil justice.

“I do not know this for a certainty, because of what we have changed,” Castiel continued, “but I deem you will learn its meaning soon. Some might choose to bear a charm graven with that sign, but your offspring chose to wear it as a skin mark, just as I have given you. Should any challenge you, though, say it is an angel’s mark.”

Both brothers nodded their understanding of the injunction, if not of the mark.

Castiel nodded back. “Good. Let us go.”

Dean and Samuel exchanged a look and followed Castiel back to the inn.

Samuel found himself sorely in need of rest on the final day. So while Dean took Robert and Father Seamus to the market for hunting supplies, Samuel stayed behind with John, who slept much of the day, and Gabriel, who seemed either lost in thought or wrestling in prayer. For his own part, Samuel prayed the Hours and the rosary silently to prepare his heart for return to Rievaulx.

Yet when at last the travelers made ready to leave Nazareth on the morning of the fifteenth of January, Gabriel did not take them each to his own home at once. Rather, he waited until they had left the city before snapping his fingers and carrying the whole group, horses and all, to the road that led north into Oxenford. By unspoken accord, they made their way to the Eagle and Child, where Ellen and Joanna and Brother Asce were both surprised and overjoyed to welcome them. Rufus was there, too, and asked no end of questions. Robert and Father Seamus took on the task of telling such tales as they and John had devised to explain the speed of their return, while Ellen fussed over both Samuel and John, bringing John a cushion to sit on and hot spiced wine to soothe Samuel’s still-aching throat. But she was not so inattentive as to fail to notice Dean’s sign that he would speak to her aside, and when they had spoken, Dean took Joanna out into the yard behind the inn.

Some minutes later, Samuel realized that they had not yet returned, so he cautiously went to the window and peeked out. Dean and Joanna stood close together conversing, facing one another; Dean’s back was to the inn, but Joanna held his right hand while he caressed her face gently with his left, and her eyes were shining. Then she said aught, and Dean kissed her far more tenderly than Samuel had ever seen him kiss a maid.

Ere Samuel could wonder at this change, Joanna tugged on Dean’s hand, and they returned to the common room hand in hand. Once the door was closed behind them, Dean cleared his throat loudly. The laughter and chatter paused.

“Father, Father Seamus,” Dean began. “We—that is, Joanna and I—should, er....” He flushed, suddenly anxious. “We... should....”

“We’re trothplighted,” Joanna stated, saving him, “and should like to put up the banns.”

Samuel could only grin at his brother, but everyone else gave a great cheer and drank the couple’s health.

“Aye, Dean,” Father Seamus said after. “Fain would I wed ye. Where shall it be, and when? Here? Grentabrige?”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, i’sooth, good Father... we had thought Rievaulx, an Sammy could gain us leave.”

Samuel’s mouth fell open, but then he smiled all the more broadly and nodded his assent.

Father Seamus considered it. “’Tis all one to me. John?”

John sighed. “’Tis a long journey, Yorkshire. Ye would need to wait ’til I be well enough to fare so far.”

Joanna shook her head. “I’ve no desire to go so far myself in such weather. Come April, perchance?”

“Aye,” Father Seamus agreed. “’Twould be time enow for the banns and for John to mend, and after Easter my parish could spare me better.”

John nodded. “Fair enow. After Easter, then.”

Then made they all merry, even the angels, until John began to tire. Dean took leave of Joanna with a kiss, and he and Samuel and Father Seamus helped John to a room.

Once they were away from the others, though, John sighed heavily. “April. Lads, I cannot stay in this place so long. After... after Will....”

“Da, ’twas no fault of thine,” Dean said quietly. “Nor Ellen nor Joanna blames thee; they saw what FitzUrse had done.”

“Yet I see it still, in my mind’s eye. Fain would I have given my life for his.”

“Come thou and stay with me, then, _mo chara_ ,” said Father Seamus.[3] “Grentabrige is but two days hence,[4] so ’twould be no hardship for Dean to come to see thee, and there are ladies enow in the parish would fain look after thee.”

“Such care would I not receive in a _priest’s_ house,” John returned with a smirk.

Father Seamus laughed, but neither Samuel nor Dean could hold back a disgusted “Da!!”

John chuckled and held more tightly to his sons. “Ye know I jest, lads. Aye, Seamus, ’tis a kind offer, and I thank thee.”

So the travelers, aided by the angels, left for Grentabrige the next day and saw John settled comfortably in the parsonage with Father Seamus. Robert took leave of them there on foot, and Gabriel and Castiel returned Samuel and Dean to Oxenford for another two days. Then, after a long and oft tearful leave-taking, the angels bore Samuel alone back to Rievaulx.

He had been away but four and a half weeks, yet the sight of the abbot’s quarters was as welcome as if he had been away for years. Abbot Aelred was working at his desk when they arrived and leapt to his feet in joyous surprise.

“St. Gabriel, St. Castiel!” Abbot Aelred cried.

Gabriel held up a hand. “Prithee, Aelred, kneel not. We come only to return thy brother to thee, for his task is complete.”

Abbot Aelred nodded and looked at Samuel. “Samuel, my dear, dear brother... we had not thought to see thee back ere Advent!”

“His throat was wounded,” said Gabriel. “No worse than bruised, but he should not speak or sing for a week yet.”

Samuel blinked at that—it had already been a full week since his throttling, and Gabriel had given him leave to speak when parting from Dean—but decided not to question the order and smiled wryly at the abbot.

“Much of what he has seen and done is not to be revealed, even to thee. But of what he may speak, he shall speak truly.”

Samuel understood that command much better and nodded.

“And he has aught to give to thee, I deem—a cross of olivewood, made in Nazareth, given in thanks to God that he is safe returned.”

Samuel smiled more broadly and handed the cross to Abbot Aelred.

Abbot Aelred frowned a little at that. “Givest thou this to _me_?”

Samuel shook his head and signed _All_.

“Oh, to all the brothers?”

Samuel nodded.

“’Tis not his gift alone,” Castiel added. “His brother and father also send thanks thereby.”

And since Dean had paid for it with John’s silver, that was more or less true. So Samuel nodded again.

Abbot Aelred looked at the cross again, humble as it was in all but origin, and nodded. “Well, then, I shall find a place for it in the oratory. Please give them our thanks.”

The angels bowed their heads once. “We must take our leave now,” said Gabriel. “Fare thee well, Aelred. And Samuel?” He squeezed Samuel’s arm with a warm smile. “Again we thank thee.”

Samuel smiled and nodded. Castiel patted his shoulder and gave him a small smile, and then the angels left.

Glad as he was to be home, Samuel felt bereft. It had been both wondrous strange and strangely wondrous to have had the fellowship of angels for even so short a time, but as they were returning to their own day, he would not see them again in this life. And no one at Rievaulx could understand what he and Dean had been through, even were he allowed to explain.

Suddenly, stupidly, he missed Dean.

“Nazareth, they said,” quoth Abbot Aelred. “Hast been in the Holy Land, then?”

Samuel pulled himself together and nodded.

“Is Jerusalem yet retaken?”

Samuel shook his head.

“Hast been to Nazareth, though. Well, then, perchance when the current reading is finished and thou art well, I shall bid thee tell us aught of Nazareth.”

Samuel smiled.

Abbot Aelred smiled back. “Come, ’tis almost time for Terce. I am sure the brothers shall be glad to see thee back again.”

Yet after Samuel had performed the standard penance for brothers who had been away on a journey, he realized that in fact, not all the brothers were glad of his return. A certain Brother Thomas, whom Samuel did not know well but had seemed friendly enough in the past, glared daggers at him whenever Samuel chanced to pass him. Samuel knew no reason why this should be—until one day he thought he saw Brother Thomas’ eyes flicker black briefly when the name of Christ was said at Vespers.

That night as he lay abed trying to fall asleep, Samuel thought through what he had noticed about Brother Thomas since his return. Brother Thomas was often late to the Divine Office, though not so late that he earned the place reserved to shame the tardy, and that had not changed. Yet now he avoided the cloister and the Blessing of the Water for some reason,[5] and Samuel seldom heard his voice among the choir. And he was surly with all the brothers, not only Samuel, though for Samuel it seemed he reserved especial hate.

But Samuel had too little proof that Brother Thomas was possessed. And he knew not what to do about it if he had such proof.

* * *

It took a month for the current meal-time reading, St. Augustine’s _De Civitate Dei_ , to come to a close, and Abbot Aelred added Samuel to the rotation of weekly readers again so that he should be the one to finish. Since the book was ended in mid-week, Abbot Aelred bade him wait to start the next book so that he might speak of Nazareth during the next day’s meals. Samuel obeyed and, after an introduction from the good abbot, told what he might about the city and its holy sites. He had refused all questions ere this, as commanded in the Rule of Benedict, but he recalled all those that he might answer freely and did so.

He had been speaking a bare half hour, however, when Brother Thomas leapt to his feet, screaming, “Lies, lies!”

“Sit down, brother, and keep thy peace,” said Abbot Aelred.

“’Tis four months’ journey, at least, from here to the Holy Land,” Brother Thomas insisted. “This fool was not gone so long as to have been to Rome!”

“Mind thy tongue, Thomas,” Abbot Aelred said more sharply, but some of the other brothers began to murmur.

Samuel looked Brother Thomas in the eye. “As God is my witness, I have told no lie.”

Brother Thomas howled in rage and sprang over the table to attack Samuel. Some of the brothers rose to stop him; other brothers rose to stop _them_ ; and soon the refectory was in chaos. At a sign from the abbot, Samuel ran for the door, and Abbot Aelred followed, but the brawl followed both of them into the passage around the cloister, through the day room, and nigh to the door of the abbot’s quarters. The prior and other monks with authority to correct the brothers were able to bar the path there and allow Abbot Aelred and Samuel safe passage into the abbot’s quarters and out of harm’s way.

Once the door was closed behind them, Abbot Aelred sighed. “Let us speak plainly, brother. Thy speech has oft been guarded since thy return. I do not accuse thee thus of falsehood; thou hast been on an errand for the angels, and I would not have thee speak when they have bid thee keep silent. And thou hast done naught that does not accord with the Rule and the customs of our Order. But there are those who would take silence for admission of a fault.”

Samuel nodded. “Yet I have said all that is safe to say.”

“I doubt it not, Samuel. And there is more. Brother Thomas has been disquiet and disruptive of late, and for more than this cause—it began perhaps a week ere your return. He had been working at the grange at Griff while the grangemaster was ill... and the lay brothers have brought reports of ill omens there and round about.”

Samuel frowned. The village of Griff had been destroyed by the Northmen before the founding of Rievaulx; the monks had razed the old buildings and used the site as farmland.[6] One house remained intact for the brothers’ use, as Griff was two miles from the abbey and thus too far for the brothers to travel thither and back very many times a day. “What sorts of omens?”

“Some of the sheep have been mutilated. The well has frozen over, which it should not have done even in this chill winter. Patches of black fog have been seen drifting about the fields. And a few of the lay brothers claim to have seen ghosts.”

“Ghosts? What might have been done to disturb them?”

Abbot Aelred shook his head. “I wit not. But thy question tells me thou hast dealt with such things.”

Samuel nodded. “My father is a hunter of demons.”

The abbot nodded slowly. Then he sighed. “Samuel, I am satisfied of thy innocence, and thou knowest I would not send a brother wittingly into danger to learn the cause of the omens at Griff. But thou hast useful knowledge and St. Gabriel’s favor, _and_ I wit not what would satisfy the brothers better than thy coming safely through such an ordeal.”

Samuel felt himself pale at that last word. “That is what you would ask of me? A trial by ordeal?”

“Aye. There is no work for others there that cannot wait until the danger is past. Go thou alone to Griff. Take such supplies as you may need, but no weapons save prayer and Scripture and the full armor of God. Drive the evil thence. An thou return to us whole and victorious, I doubt not that the matter shall be settled for aye.”

Samuel’s heart sank. “Might I be allotted a piece of chalk, two flasks of holy water, and a measure of salt?”

Abbot Aelred nodded. “That is reasonable, I deem.”

Samuel bowed his head. “Then as you command, I shall obey.”

Abbot Aelred took him gently by the shoulders. “My dear brother. Ever have I been fond of thee, last as thou wert of the novices in my charge ere I was called to Revesby. I would not ask this of thee had I not the highest confidence that thou shalt succeed. And it may be that thou shalt find help unlooked-for on thy way.”

 _I shall have to_ , Samuel thought miserably, but he only nodded. He could not divulge the truth: that the Gabriel he knew was not the St. Gabriel currently in Heaven, that Gabriel and Castiel had returned to the future to aid Dean’s offspring and had taken the gun with them, that the aid he and Dean had received on the Crusade could not be counted upon now. And what hope had he of sending word to Dean in time? 

* * *

“Griff,” Dean repeated quietly so that the inn’s other guests could not overhear. “You are sure the man said Griff?”

Brother Asce nodded and answered in like wise. “Ghosts he saw, and belike devils as well.”

Dean swore. “That’s Rievaulx land. When said he that the troubles began?”

“Four, five days after the Twelfth Night.”

“Just after we killed Azazel. Then ’tis very like he saw devils. If Hell knows where Samuel is....”

“He thought as much himself, given what his fellows said. And they also said....”

“... that though the abbey is well warded against most devils, there are some that can bear holy ground. Yet a grange is neither.”

“Methought Brother Samuel worketh in the scriptorium.”

“Aye, but an they trouble the brethren enow....”

Brother Asce sighed. “You’d best see to it, then.”

Dean nodded. “Aye. May be they seek thus to trap us both, but ’tis a chance I have perforce to take.”

The foreboding in his heart prompted him to gather more supplies than he might otherwise have taken for such a journey, among them linen-wrapped parcels of frozen meat and a portion of the wine and spices he had bought in Nazareth; and he refused Joanna’s offer to join him. But a weapon she gave him that he did not refuse, but accepted with great thanks and a kiss. And at first light the next day, he rode with all haste for Griff.

* * *

Once arrangements were made with the cellarer, Abbot Aelred announced Samuel’s ordeal to the brothers at Vespers. Samuel then fasted and prostrated himself in the oratory after the Hours for the next full day to pray for protection and wisdom, and it seemed that his tears did move some of the brothers who held aught against him. But Brother Thomas shirked the Office every time and sought to spit on Samuel if they chanced to pass; Brother Ælfwine and Brother Osric took to walking beside Samuel to keep the two apart. The wait also gave time enough for the few monks and lay brothers still at Griff to heed the summons, provide such care for the animals as would be necessary during their absence, and return to the abbey’s safety. After Lauds on the second day, the cellarer brought Samuel his daily bread for a week and some cheese and dried fruit, along with the other supplies he had requested. Then Abbot Aelred laid hands on Samuel, prayed over him, and sent him on his way.

Samuel tried not to think too hard about it being Friday the 13th.

The dread in his heart began to build when he was yet a mile from Griff and the birds ceased to sing, and he prayed under his breath. He prayed louder as the grange came into view and the chill in the air grew far stronger than the weather warranted. A black haze, too, seemed to lie over the place, and with it a sense of great evil. And as he passed the boundary of the former town, the stench of sulfur filled his nose.

Samuel broke into a run and made straight for the grange house, but barely had he passed the well when figures began forming from the black mist—some child-like, some more monstrous—and rushed at him, howling and gibbering. Blows rained on him from every side, and claws sought to rend him limb from limb. Unseen forces swept him from the ground and dashed him against trees. No breath had he to cry for help, even were help nigh to hear.

—And yet of a sudden he heard the whistle of an arrow pass, and the shade before him shrieked and vanished as the missile went through it. Mere seconds later, he heard a shout, and the shape of a man came nigh and stood over him, driving back the shadows with a curious dark blade....

Then darkness took him, and he knew no more.

* * *

[1] Conversations.  
[2] Not true IRL as far as I know—I haven’t seen discussions of either church being demonstrably in the wrong place, and the dispute seems to rest on the fact that Luke doesn’t say where Gabriel did appear to Mary—but this is SPN-verse.  
[3] My friend  
[4] _Grentabrige_ is one of two twelfth-century forms of the town name that would become Cambridge.  
[5] On Sundays in Cistercian monasteries, the priest celebrating Mass sprinkled newly-blessed holy water over all the monks, novices, etc.; at Rievaulx, this ceremony also involved sprinkling the cloister with salt and holy water.  
[6] The history of the village of Griff that appears here is purely fictional, apart from the facts in this sentence; even the idea that it was destroyed by the Vikings is speculation on my part. (Note: The Vikings I’m picturing here are more Scandinavian than Danish, which is why I’ve gone with _Northmen_ rather than _Danes_. _Norse_ and _Viking_ are too new, relatively speaking.)


	3. Chapter 2: Unlooked-For

Samuel woke in great pain; one side of his face felt swollen, and he knew not where else he was wounded but hurt everywhere. He was naked save for his smallclothes, but soft, warm blankets lay close about him, and he seemed to be on a bed and near enough to a fire to be comfortable. And the air was filled with the scent of cooking food.

With an effort, Samuel opened his eyes and looked about. He was in the grange house, which was dark save for the fire; the strange blade stood unsheathed beside the hearth, and upon the hearth itself was crouched... “Dean?!”

“Ho there, Sammy,” Dean replied with a worried smile as he served some soup from the pot on the coals into a bowl. “Welcome back.”

“But... how comest thou....”

“Five days ago, Brother Asce gave me word he had from a journeyman from this shire who had passed through Oxenford last week while I was in Grentabrige seeing to Father. I came as swiftly as I could—and none too soon. ’Twas no little fight I had to get thee into this house, and little less to get my horse under warded cover. But we’ve stores enow, with what was here and the food I brought from Ellen—’tis keeping cold in yon window.” Dean nodded toward one of the oilskin-covered windows furthest from the fire. “The house is warded, thanks to thy chalk and the store of salt that was here. There’s yarrow enow for all the poultices thou hast need of. And I,” he concluded with a note of triumph as he stood and brought the bowl to Samuel, “have made thee Mother’s stew.”

Samuel’s stomach rumbled in answer. Oft when they were children, Dean had made this stew, and each time he swore that Mary had made it with her own hands whenever Dean had been ill before the fire. Samuel smiled at his brother’s thoughtfulness and tried to shift so that he could eat better, but moving at all hurt.

“Here,” Dean said, setting down the bowl and lifting Samuel’s head gently to place another bolster behind it. “That should do. And I shall feed thee for the nonce.”

“My thanks,” Samuel returned. And then he remembered what the stew was made of, and his eyes flew wide. “Wait, Dean, none but the ill—”

“ _Art_ ill,” Dean stated and shoved a spoonful of stew into Samuel’s mouth. “And shalt have need of beef and other like meat for strength to let thy wounds mend.”

Samuel swallowed. The stew was rich with wine and salt and the savor of marrow bones; the beef, carrots, onions, and currant raisins were cut fine enough that he had no need to chew; and he tasted many herbs and spices known to aid in healing—ginger, savory, cinnamon, cloves, mace, sage, rosemary, thyme, and honey. The heat spread comfortingly through his chest as the liquid traveled downward to his stomach, relaxing the muscles and easing the pain somewhat. He could not hold back a moan of relief.

“Would have brought a wench, had I known thou hast such need,” Dean teased and gave him another spoonful.

Samuel could only glare at him.

Dean snickered and let the jest drop. “Art beaten and clawed, but no worse than a cracked rib, I deem. I had a care for thy head, but thou’rt clear-minded enow; may be the loss of blood and the lack of breath that did for thee.”

“Mm,” Samuel agreed and swallowed. “How long was I out?”

“Some hours. The mist so hides the sun that I wit not the time.”

“Hast learned aught?”

“Precious little. A few ghosts I have seen, but I wit not what role they play. The black mist is a host of devils. Some are of the types that need no host— _acheri_ , I think the child-devils are called, but I wit not the names of the others. Yet some there are that possess men and are formless else. One tried to take me, but it could not.”

Samuel frowned, then blinked. “Castiel’s mark?”

“Castiel’s mark,” Dean agreed. “I doubt not that it saved thee also.”

“What of thy arrows?”

“Iron heads with salt along the edges.”

“And the sword?”

Dean smiled. “Iron the blade, silver the hilt, the whole washed with holy water and blessed by the archbishop of Paris over the relics of St. Denis. ’Twas William de Harvelle’s; Joanna sent it with me.”

Samuel closed his eyes, but tears slid down his cheeks despite him.

“Here, now,” Dean said in concern and set the bowl aside. “What ails thee?”

“I prayed for aid,” Samuel whispered. “But I scarce dared hope such aid as thine would come.” He opened his eyes and smiled shakily. “It seems Gabriel and Castiel are not our only friends on high.”

Dean smiled a little and rubbed the back of his neck, then picked up the bowl again and fed him the rest in silence. “More?” he asked then.

Samuel hesitated; he was still hungry, but the Order had rules against eating to surfeit. “Well, I....”

“Oh, stuff,” Dean replied and got up to refill the bowl. “Art wounded sore; thy abbot shall forgive.”

Samuel could not but smile.

“Say, what the hell dost thou out here alone? I should have thought the lay brothers, at least, would be here.”

“The grange hath need of cleansing. And Brother Thomas hath called me liar for the little I have said of the Crusade. Abbot Aelred saw no choice but to send me hither as both service and ordeal.”

Dean frowned as he returned with the second bowlful. “This Brother Thomas... is he....”

“Behaving strangely? Aye.” Samuel took a spoonful of stew before continuing. “Since the time all this started, he has been most unruly. He will enter the church but not the cloister, which is blessed with salt. And I cannot be sure, but....”

“His eyes turn?”

“Aye. Black, an I mistake not.”

Dean cursed. “I feared as much. It seeks to avenge Azazel upon thee. And a strong devil it must be, to bear holy ground.”

“What shall we do, then?”

“First things first: we get thee well and find out what the hell is going on here. We rid this place of devils and ghosts. Then we go back to Rievaulx and see to Brother Thomas.”

Samuel nodded and ate in silence a while longer. But finally he asked, “How doth Father fare?”

Dean sighed. “I’sooth, Sammy, I wit not. His body heals, but not his soul. Were he not with Father Seamus, I doubt not that he would even now be nigh to drinking himself to death.”

“For what cause?”

“Mother. He loves her still, mourns her still.”

 _Even so dost thou_ , Samuel thought, watching Dean’s face, yet he said naught. Dean, at least, had Joanna, as Samuel had the Church, but Mary had been John’s one true love. Neither of them could ever fully fathom his grief.

“An... an ever there is peace again in Winchester, I hope to take him back to the old manor. ’Tis said Mother walks abroad there; perchance they might both find peace.”

Samuel frowned. “Why said thou naught ere I returned? The angels might have taken us all.”

“Faith, Sammy, ’twas far from my thoughts then. But then, may be that killing Azazel was enow.”

Samuel nodded. “May be.”

Dean fed him the last of the second bowlful of stew and brought him clean water to drink, then gave him a very small dose of poppy tincture for the pain and helped him to lie flat again. Samuel watched Dean serve himself a bowl of stew, but the fullness of his stomach and the poppy soon made him drowsy, and he was asleep again in moments.

* * *

Samuel drifted from sleep to wakefulness and back many times over the next day or two. Often when he woke, Dean was busy trying to clean and mend Samuel’s stained and shredded robe, much as he had done with the few bits of poor cloth they had had to wear when they were children. But betimes he was cooking—reheating the beef stew or preparing aught else—or crushing yarrow or checking Samuel’s bandages or the wards; seldom did Samuel catch him nodding. Whatever Samuel needed, though, he had but to speak and Dean was ready to help, even to the point of aiding him in using the chamber pot. That was humiliating, but Dean made no complaint, so neither did Samuel.

Sleep, however, was frustratingly bootless. Samuel could recall no more than flashes of dreams, and betimes he was in too much pain to sleep deeply enough to dream. Yet he could not but think that some clue to the puzzle might lie in his dreams if he could but dream properly.

“Well, the devils’ aim is clear,” Dean noted as he fed Samuel a stew of coneys, the making of which had used up a fair portion of the bread ration. “How to banish the lot is less so. I would we had some way to speak so the whole grange might hear. Have Young Dean and Young Samuel such a thing, think thou?”

Samuel had perforce to swallow swiftly. “Oh, ask me not. It hurts to laugh.”

“Sooth, Samuel.”

“I wit not. Given the thing we saw them in, the... horseless wain or whatever it was, perchance they do.”

“I wonder how such a thing would work....”

Amused, Samuel fell asleep again to Dean’s wondering aloud. Yet somehow, thinking of that far-off and now-averted future helped Samuel to dream at last:

_Young Sam, who seemed closer in age to Samuel now than he had in the vision the brothers had shared on the Damascus road, delivered four other children of an age with him—two maids and two lads, and one of the lads a Moor—from an acheri demon, warned them of another demon, and led them out-of-doors onto an empty street. The wooden buildings round about were in disrepair, but a rusted bell graven with a great oak tree caught Young Sam’s eye._

_“I’ve seen that bell before,” said he. “I know where we are now: Cold Oak, South Dakota. A town so haunted, every single resident fled.”_

Samuel drew in a sharp breath, which his chest protested, and the pain roused him just as Dean knelt beside his bed.

“What? What is’t?” Dean asked. “Hast seen aught?”

“The—the—what was,” Samuel replied, fighting for both breath and words. “A town of ghosts... where demons played... called Cold Oak.”

Dean frowned. “I wit the name not.”

“Not here. West... where the children are. Shall be.”

“The—”

“’Twas Sam.”

It took Dean a moment to make sense of what Samuel had said. “So in this sight of that which shall not be, Young Sam was in a case like ours?”

“Not yet so bad. Saw but one demon. But the ghosts... were there already.”

“How many?”

“Too many. The folk took flight. ’Twas a ruin.”

Dean leaned back and thought. “’Tis said sites of great evil draw other evil, as rancid meat draws flies. ’Twould account for the devils appearing at this grange and not some other.”

“And for the ghosts.”

“Aye. An the place were already haunted, perchance the devils have stirred up the ghosts as well.”

Samuel listened a moment to the howling outside and the rattling of the door that were belike not from wind. “Some of the ghosts are angry,” he said. “But some about this house are sore afraid. They wish the demons gone but have not the strength to fight, nor wit they how. They seek peace long denied.”

“Denied?”

“I wit no more as yet.”

Dean sighed. “Well, rest a while. Perchance more shall come to thee.”

Samuel nodded and closed his eyes, letting himself drift. Yet nothing definite came for some time, though he sensed the crowd of fearful ghosts about the house growing. But finally he did fall asleep deeply enough to see aught:

 _Thorkel Longbeard stood on the ridge overlooking Griff and smiled to himself as his_ wicca _,[1] Gunnar Herjulfsen, came nigh. “There,” said Thorkel (and Samuel knew not how he understood the Northman). “The captive says there be much gold to be found in this hamlet.”_

_“Aye,” quoth Gunnar, “but said he where?”_

_“Nay. ’Tis why I need thee, Gunnar. I would that no wight in this hamlet—man, woman, child, living or dead—shall leave or find peace until that gold be found. The Christian dogs shall know the might of our gods and yield.”_

_“Thou hast not asked whether I wit such a spell, Thorkel.”_

_Thorkel looked at Gunnar. “Wist thou?”_

_Gunnar made an unsure noise. “I ken the gods to ask. Baduhenna and Váli hold the keys to Valhalla. Yet they shall ask sacrifice for such a favor.”_

_Thorkel grinned evilly. “Then sacrifice they shall have.”_

Samuel gasped in horror and sat bolt upright.

Dean was at his side in a trice. “Sammy! What is’t? What hast thou seen?”

“Dean... get pen....”

“Wist thou what happened here?”

“Not... the whole....”

“Slate, then. I’ll not risk parchment yet. Gain thou thy breath; I’ll fetch the stack of slates from the cellar.” And off Dean ran.

Samuel’s gasps had turned to groans by the time Dean returned. Dean set down the slates and helped him lie down, applied fresh yarrow where needed, and gave him more poppy. Only then did Dean fetch chalk and a slate and sit down. By then, Samuel had breath enough to speak, though slowly, and related what he had seen.

Dean had some choice West Saxon words on the topics of witches and pagans to say when he had finished taking Samuel’s dictation. And Samuel could not but agree.

* * *

Thanks to the yarrow and Dean’s rich stews, Samuel felt somewhat less sore the next day; the swelling in his face had gone down, and his many bruises had begun to change from purple to green. He still needed Dean’s help for most things, but he could feed himself, though slowly. The fearful ghosts continued to press close about the house, so much so that a sheen of ice had formed over the windows furthest from the fire and on the packets of meat Dean had placed there to keep cold. The brothers questioned whether the ghosts sought refuge or would fain speak to (or through) Samuel. But Samuel would not agree to any form of divination like a talking board, and both knew that breaking the salt line for any spirit would allow entry to all. They had therefore to wait upon Samuel’s visions, which Samuel sought only through prayer.

The wait seemed as long as the wait for Samuel’s healing. But when at last another vision came, Samuel was glad of the delay:

_Five English captives, beheaded and flayed, lay before the bloodied altar where Gunnar Herjulfsen chanted a spell to summon Baduhenna and Váli. Then he struck flint with steel above the summoning bowl, and the gods appeared, standing among the slain. Each studied the offering, chose and ate a part of whichever pleased him or her, and then turned with a cruel smile to Gunnar._

_When Gunnar had repeated Thorkel’s desire, Baduhenna raised an eyebrow. “And what if there be no gold?” she asked._

_“Thorkel shall tell you when he is sure.”_

_“Oh, Thorkel shall tell us. How dares he make demands thus of the gods? We are no thanes of his, nor slaves to mankind.”_

_Now it was Gunnar’s smile that turned cruel, and Váli gasped as he looked down and saw chains of light binding the gods’ limbs. “Bound,” he growled. “How came we so to be bound?!”_

_“Ye have accepted the sacrifice,” Gunnar replied. “By this spell, ye must now perforce satisfy the one offering sacrifice. When ’tis done, ye may go; ’til then, ye shall stay.”_

_Baduhenna lunged at Gunnar, but the light chains held her fast, and he laughed._

“Evil,” Samuel wheezed when he had related the vision to Dean. “Great evil, thou said. Well, no greater evil have I seen, save Azazel.”

Dean handed him a cup of mulled wine. “Aye, and I fear worse is to come.”

“And all of the love of money.” Samuel drank. “ _Radix enim omnium malorum est cupiditas._ ”[2]

“Oh, _do_ thou speak English, Sammy....”

But scarce had Samuel finished the wine when another vision appeared before his waking eyes and gave him cause to scream:

_The Northmen had taken such plunder as they could find, but there was precious little of that. When searches uncovered no gold, Thorkel took those who remained alive and turned to torture. Three men he put to the blood-eagle in full sight of all,[3] but through all the screams and weeping, the tale remained the same. The captive had lied. There was no gold in Griff._

_In a rage, Thorkel put every living creature in the town to the sword. And when Gunnar asked whether to bid the gods release their souls, Thorkel cried, “Nay! Here let them rot ’til Ragnarok. No peace shall there be for Christian filth!”_

_Thus the Northmen rode away._

And Samuel fell forward into Dean’s arms and wept bitterly. 

* * *

After Samuel was at last able to speak enough to relate the final vision to Dean, the brothers kept silence a long while as they drank the mulled wine and ate Dean’s venison stew. Wearied then and sore of heart and limb, Samuel slept and woke and slept again while Dean found parchment and ink and wrote a fair copy of the full tale. He took especial care, Samuel noted, but that was no great wonder. ’Twas a solemn, woeful tale, and unlike the ghosts that hunters oft had cause to quell with salt and fire, the folk of Griff had done no harm. Dean clearly felt no less sorrow for them than Samuel did.

Some hours passed before Samuel woke to find Dean taking sealing wax from his pack. “Dean? Hast done at last?”

“Aye. Here, see thou whether the copy is good.” Dean helped Samuel sit up, then brought him the parchment and a candle to read better by.

Samuel glanced over the page and found the layout good enough. Dean had used plain black ink and had added no decoration, but that befit the tale in Samuel’s view—and besides, Dean was no great artist with a pen. Then Samuel began to read the words themselves:

_Þe Deaþ Griffan  
Swa God þa sarspell to Broðor Samuel of Rievaulx gesweotolede_ [4]  


He smiled a bit at that, and Dean gently rubbed his shoulder. Samuel carefully read out the whole tale, which was just as he had told it to Dean, and nodded as he went. Then he came to the closing Dean had added:

> _Þus spræc Broðor Samuel. Ic Denu of Winceastre wrat hit for him for þam þe he becam micelan saras fram deofolas, se þe þe broðor of Rievaulx to sargian sohton, ond ne mæg sylfa writan. We liefaþ, hie deofolas comon to Griff for þam þe þas firencræft dydon þa Norðmenn. For witnes sette ic her min segn todæg, þam xvii. Feb. mcxlviii._ [5]  
> 

Samuel nodded slowly and brushed off a few stray grains of pounce. “’Twas truly the craft more than one deed. Aye, ’tis good, Dean.” He handed the parchment back, noting that there was still room enough for a Latin translation should Abbot Aelred request one. “Is’t the seventeenth already?”

“Aye, just,” Dean replied, taking the parchment and candle back to the desk where he had been working. “’Tis half past midnight, I deem; I heard the Matins bell.” He sat down and held the stick of sealing wax above the candle flame for a moment, then dripped the molten wax onto the face of the parchment and pressed down on it with the silver signet ring he always wore on his right hand. It had been Mary’s; how Father had saved it from the fire they knew not, but Dean bore it proudly. “There, ’tis done. Perchance shalt sleep better hereafter.”

“ _Deo volente_ ,” Samuel agreed.[6]

“Hast need of aught?”

Samuel thought a moment. “More stew, perchance, an thou left any.”

“Left and kept hot, for I am the best brother in all England,” Dean shot back and went to get it for him.

Samuel smiled fondly and doubted it not.

* * *

The press about the house did lessen now that the tale was told and written down. But Samuel’s sleep was no more restful, for it now seemed the demon horde sought to attack him through his dreams—no true visions, these, but nightmares terrible and filled with such fears as he had already fought for many years, of monsters fell and grievous hurts to those he loved. Dean woke him more than once when the horrors made him scream.

Finally, just after dawn, they both gave it up as a bad job, and Dean set himself to fry some bacon. “And speaking of bad jobs,” he said, “I have tried all I wit to do, but I deem thy robe cannot be saved. I shall have to find thee another.”

“What holes cannot be mended?”

“Nay, ’tis not so badly rent as that. ’Tis the staining. I would not use the whole store of soap to get such bloodstains out of white wool.”

“Well, then, ’twill serve to clothe me for the journey back to Rievaulx and be proof of our pains. I wit not whether there be any spare robes kept here, as the lay brothers may not wear our habit.”

“Mm, fair point, nor might I easily find aught to fit _thy_ giant height, even if such spares were here.”

Samuel snorted.

They ate in pleasant silence, but outside there was still no peace. And Samuel felt no closer to knowing what to do about it. He said as much while Dean stored the bacon grease for later use in seasoning.

“Well, we have the ghosts’ tale,” Dean noted. “It would seem that Baduhenna and Váli are still bound by the Northmen’s spell, which makes clear why the ghosts are trapped thus.”

“Aye, true. Perchance we need some way to break the spell.”

“Or to repeat it.”

Samuel gasped. “DEAN!”

“Samuel, an we shift the bond—”

“Nay. Nay, I shall not offer aught to heathen gods. I wit not the full spell or the herbs needed. _And_ even had I the knowledge, paid thou no heed to the tale? _Five men_ they slew to draw the gods.”

“But the gods are already here.”

“And already angry!”

“So, we make trial of aught else than blood.”

“Dean, such trial could get _us_ killed, or draw aught worse to us. And in any case, there are no trappings for a summoning here.”

Dean sighed and strode toward the fire, frustrated. “Oh, very well. That puts us back to breaking the bond, but we wit not how to do that, either, without some counter-spell.”

Samuel ran a hand over his face. “I would we had someone like Robert or Brother Asce here. Someone who might wit more than we.”

And there was the sound of a throat clearing from just inside the door.

Dean caught up the iron sword from the hearthside and spun to face the female figure that stood beneath the devil’s trap he had drawn above the door. She smiled and stepped out of the trap easily, the motion causing the firelight to catch on the many metal roundels that hung about her Roman dress. Her hair was bound up but uncovered, and her arms were bare save for bands of gold in the Celtic style. Yet she seemed not to feel the deep chill that lingered beyond the fire’s heat.

“Who are you?” Dean demanded.

A flash of confusion crossed her face before she answered in Latin, “My name is Coventina. I am a goddess of wells and springs. I wit not how I came to be bound to this well, but I have no quarrel with the Christians so long as they throw me coins now and again. I take naught else from humans, and in return I keep their wells flowing.”

Samuel translated that statement for Dean at the same time he took another look at the roundels and saw that they were indeed coins of gold, silver, and copper. He could not see them clearly, but some looked Roman, some British, some Danish, some English. He thought he even saw one or two that bore King Stephen’s visage.

Dean looked no less confused or wary. “What would you with us?”

Coventina looked at Samuel, who translated, and took another step forward. “I have no quarrel with Christians, as I said. But I take exception to being frozen out of my own well. Ye wish the demons and the ghosts gone; so do I. I have come to offer aid.”

Dean lowered his sword when Samuel translated and fixed Coventina with a searching look. Then he reached into his purse, pulled out a gold coin, and tossed it to her with a smile. She caught it with an answering smile and hung it on her belt. And Samuel knew not whether to be glad or have a headache.

* * *

[1] Masculine form of _wicce_ (witch)  
[2] For cupidity is the root of all evil (1 Tim. 6:10a Vulgate; most modern translations specify “the love of money,” but _cupiditas_ has broader meanings, as Chaucer reminds us in the Pardoner’s Tale).  
[3] If you don’t know what the blood-eagle is... you don’t want to. _Trust me._  
[4] The Death of Griff / As God revealed the sad tale to Brother Samuel of Rievaulx  
[5] Thus spoke Brother Samuel. I, Dean of Winchester, wrote it for him because he received many wounds from devils that sought to grieve the brothers of Rievaulx and was not able to write himself. We believe these devils came to Griff because the Northmen did this wickedness. For witness I set here my seal today, the 17th of February, 1148.  
[6] God willing


	4. Chapter 3: Strange Bedfellows

Coventina pulled a cup of fair water out of the air and handed it to Samuel as she explained what she knew of the demons that were outside. Some were of types she had never seen before. “But they were not simply drawn here, as ye suppose,” she continued. “’Tis true they seek vengeance for Azazel’s death, and ’tis true they chose this place because of the Northmen’s spell. Yet they came not all of their own will. The demon that now has gone among the monks is their master, one of Azazel’s children. He came here alone, seeking a likely place from which to besiege Rievaulx. Once he found the place to his liking and took the monk, he summoned the others. Banish him, and ye shall banish all the rest.”

“Would it were so simple,” Dean grumbled when Samuel had translated. “Rievaulx is two miles hence, and the devils stand in our way.”

“How if ye drive them out of the town? They are no army; they shall scatter, and fewer shall stand ’twixt here and there.”

“How, though? We cannot sow the ground with salt, nor yet with iron, not if aught shall grow hereafter. Nor can we hallow it as if it were a church or even a churchyard.”

She looked curiously at the flasks of holy water Samuel had brought.

Samuel blinked. “Flood the grange?”

When he had repeated himself in Latin, she shrugged. “Not deep enough to do damage. Just enough to make the demons run.”

While Dean considered the idea, Samuel became aware that the ghosts were doing... aught. He could not tell what, but the sense of fear began to lessen.

“You can do that?” Dean asked. “Take a flask of water and make it overrun the town?”

Coventina shrugged again. “I have made small springs flood larger plains.”

“Right, supposing this works. We still need some way to break the bond on Baduhenna and Váli.”

“What is it ye wish to free? The gods or the humans?”

“The humans, of course.”

“Have ye any care for those gods’ fate?”

Dean and Samuel looked at each other once that question was Englished. “They drink the blood of men and feast upon the slain,” said Samuel.

“Like Badb Catha?”

“Like but unlike—not the battle-slain, but rather men slain in sacrifice. And if there be none to offer sacrifice....”

“Ere long they shall take it for themselves,” Dean concluded, recalling as Samuel did the time they had had to save John from Arculus, the Roman god of chests and strongboxes. Without worshippers, Arculus had gone mad and built a cursed chest that seemed to hold great treasure but in sooth would trap the bearer until the god came to take his tribute of blood. John had sought to destroy the chest but was instead snared by it through pure mischance. Dean and Samuel had had no recourse but to kill Arculus.

Coventina shifted anxiously. “As I have said—”

Dean waved her off without waiting for Samuel to translate. “Had you taken life ere now in wanhope, we should have heard of it.”

Samuel translated that and added, “Wit you what kills the Northmen’s gods?”

“Wooden stakes, in most cases,” she replied. “Evergreen is best—”

She was interrupted by the sounds of shouting and of branches crashing out of the holly tree that stood near the house. Dean and Coventina both looked sorely confused, but Samuel understood. The ghosts had heard and knew at last how to gain their freedom. When the crashing had stopped, the shouting increased, now joined by the howls of demons.

“Dean, the door,” Samuel said.

Sword in hand, Dean ran to the door and reached it just as someone knocked. Samuel nodded, and Dean opened just in time for the shade of a woman to throw four stout holly branches through, wave, and vanish. Then an acheri laughed, and Dean slammed the door to again and barred it.

“This,” quoth he, picking up the branches, “must be the _maddest_ hunt I have ever been on.”

Coventina needed no translation to laugh at his tone.

* * *

Because Dean now had stakes to carve—two for each brother, as seemed the ghosts’ intent, lest mischance befall—Coventina set herself to mind the fire and cook the meals. Dean refused to let her tend to Samuel’s wounds, but sooth to say, Samuel was feeling well enough that he needed little help in moving about when he was not sleeping and could spare Dean’s constant care. He felt well enough, too, to ask the goddess to make the soup with fowl or fish. And much to both brothers’ surprise, she made cock-a-leekie, which had also been one of Mary’s favorites.

“How came you to know this dish?” Samuel asked her.

She smiled. “On a time, I had a shrine some leagues north, by Hadrian’s Wall. Some converse I had with the Picts and their gods.”

Dean picked up enough words to lean forward ere Samuel could translate. “Hadrian’s Wall. Of course. I have heard of a place there—at Carrawburgh, Coventina’s Well. ’Tis a shrine built about a spring.”

It took some doing for Samuel to recall the Roman name of the place, Brocolitia, but when he did, she nodded to confirm it.

“You said you wist not how you came hither... wit you when?”

“Some little time. Nigh on eight centuries, I deem. ’Twas after the other well was ordered stopped by Theodosius, but ere the Saxons came.”

Dean came and knelt beside Samuel. “She said she hath no quarrel with Christians,” he whispered, “but an Aelred bid her go....”

Samuel nodded. “I fear he may an I tell him. Yet I cannot keep silent only for her sake.”

“Nay, do not so. I deem some Roman heathen brought aught hither to bless this well when the other was closed—a coin, belike, or some charm set amid the stones. ’Twould be that, not the well, that holds her here.”

“May be.”

“An I take that thing back to the Wall, I take the goddess back to the Wall, and all is well.”

“The well is blocked, though.”

“’Tis set in a marsh. Shall have little trouble to place the thing in water, or near enow. And she thriveth on coin—may be coins enow left there from the Romans that she shall not turn to blood.”

“Hath never done so.”

“ _Yet_ , Samuel. _Yet_. And for that cause and for her aid to us, she shall yet live. But....”

Samuel sighed. Ever Dean had felt that monsters could not deny their natures for aye. Seldom had he killed one for that cause alone, but _I shall reform, I shall kill no more_ had never been plea enough to move him. “When shalt thou do this?”

“Straightaway when we have done here. Joanna and I had thought to fare that way after the wedding, but I would not trouble her with this, nor leave thee so long with aught to hide.”

Samuel nodded. Coventina was looking curiously at them by this time, so Samuel summarized Dean’s idea for her in Latin.

She raised a hand to her mouth in shock. “He... he would do that? What service would he ask for such a boon?”

Dean look startled when Samuel translated. “Er... her pledge to take no human life?”

“But he has that already.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Faith, Sammy, I wit not.”

“Sup ye, then, and I shall think of aught.”

The brothers nodded and ate their soup. When they had done, Coventina clapped her hands twice, and a folding screen appeared about one corner of the room. Samuel could just see the base of a bath behind it, and fragrant steam rose curling above it.

“Thou first, Samuel,” Dean insisted and picked up the topmost blanket from the bed to wrap about him to shield him from Coventina’s eyes.

Groaning at the effort, Samuel rose stiffly and let Dean help him cross the room, remove his bandages, and get into the bath. The water was scented with lavender, chamomile, rosemary, and some pine-like fragrance and felt a bit salty, but the heat eased his aches at once. Once he was settled, Dean brought back his mended robe and left him to soak, and soak he did and gladly. He may even have dozed off, though the warmth of the water never varied. At length, though, he took up the bar of soap that stood at hand and washed himself, then felt well enough to get out of the bath on his own and use the soft towel to dry with.

Only as he began to dress did he notice that his wounds were all but gone.

By the time Samuel had shaved and returned to the fireside to thank Coventina for the healing bath, Dean had stripped the twigs and bark from all of the branches and had whittled points on two of them, and he was a muck of sawdust and sweat. So Samuel took over carving the remaining stakes while Dean bathed and Coventina made a chicken pie and apple tarts. Dean was overjoyed, and Samuel decided that though he still preferred the company of angels, a goddess such as this one was not all bad.

* * *

Now that he was well enough, Samuel did his best to pray the Hours through the night without disturbing Dean. They had agreed to wait for daybreak before attempting the cleansing and had decided to drive back the demons before attempting to free the ghosts. But even knowing the role Coventina had to play, he knew they could never succeed with only the aid of a pagan goddess. She had, after all, been frozen out of her own well.

Samuel awakened Dean shortly before Lauds and went to a corner to pray while Dean and Coventina made ready to leave the house, collecting gear and parchment. When he had done, he gathered up his own gear, entrusted the salt and holy water to Coventina, and took Dean’s bow and quiver and two of the holly stakes from Dean. Then he breathed a quiet prayer and made the sign of the cross over himself and Dean, and they went to the door, Dean first with sword in hand, Coventina last with salt to cover their trail.

But as Dean opened the door, Samuel sensed that the ghosts were waiting, ready to help. “Friends!” he called. “Do ye speak after me! _Exorcisamus te...._ ”

And an echoing “ _Exorcisamus te_ ” rippled outward as a seeming line of ghosts passed the words along.

“ _... omnis immundus spiritus...._ ”

“ _... omnis immundus spiritus_ ,” the ghosts repeated.

The demon cloud roiled and screamed, and Dean charged, slicing a path through the darkness with the iron blade as Samuel kept shouting the exorcism and the ghosts kept the echo alive. They came hardly to the well just as the last phrase was called and repeated, and with a great cry, many of the demons were pulled down into the earth and so returned to Hell.

Many, but by no means all. Though the exorcism contained the words “every impure spirit,” “every power of Satan,” and the like, a good number of the demons—most of the types nor Dean nor Coventina knew, belike, or belike types that took no host—were only pained and enraged. As they massed to charge, Coventina poured a circle of salt around the well, then took the two flasks of holy water and poured the water in another circle in mid-air. There it held, growing and seething as she chanted aught in an older form of Gaelic than Samuel knew.

Just as the demons surged toward the well, Coventina spoke a word of command, and the water burst forth from its holding place, reaching the ground just past the salt line and running forth across the ground with all possible speed—yet no more than an inch deep, as she had promised, not enough to damage aught. The devils wailed and fled as oil-scum on water when soap is dropped therein. Behind the leading edge of the flood, the water sank quickly into the winter-dry ground.

Then, some moments later, belike so soon as the flood reached the town’s edge, the chill deepened greatly of a sudden, turning the sodden ground to solid ice. The ghosts were at work again, Samuel knew, using their nature to see to it that the holy water could not so easily be removed ere all was done. And he breathed a silent prayer of thanks that such living death had not soured the souls of these good folk.

“Go ye now, and swiftly,” said Coventina, handing the empty flasks and bag of salt back to Samuel.

Both brothers thanked her, and they ran as best they could on the ice toward the shelter behind the grange house where Dean had penned his horse behind a salt line. But they had not gone ten yards from the well when Baduhenna appeared, her hair wild and her eyes frenzied.

“ _YOU!_ ” she screamed. “How _dare_ you stir these souls against me? How dare you bring _that water_ here?! This land is _mine!_ ”

Dean ran her through with a stake, thus felling her, but while she was yet gasping her last breath, Váli tried to strike him from behind. Samuel saw, however, and caught Váli through the heart with a stake ere the blow could fall.

“Christian filth indeed,” Samuel muttered as Váli died. “Whose God is greater now, ye damned Northmen?”

Dean laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

A ghost appeared before them then, the shade of a man. “Our thanks, kind sirs,” said he. “I wit not how long the Reapers shall let us stay to help, but we shall hold off the devils as best we may. Go ye now, and God speed you!”

“Fare ye well!” the brothers cried and went on to retrieve Dean’s horse, a bay mare they had bought in Damascus. Dean saddled her swiftly and helped Samuel up behind, then mounted himself and urged the horse to a gallop.

The demons had not yet regrouped fully, but those that had were waiting on the road to Rievaulx perhaps a mile from Griff. But Samuel had Dean’s bow to begin to clear the path, and Dean had his sword to cut down those that pressed too close. Yet still the battle raged the rest of the way to the abbey, where the porter flung open the iron gate as they drew nigh and closed it swiftly as soon as they had crossed onto holy ground. Outside the demons howled, but they could not gain entry.

The porter took Dean’s horse and summoned the guestmaster, who hurried the brothers into the guesthouse to wait for Abbot Aelred. As soon as they were inside, Dean set salt lines to stop Brother Thomas from entering. Once Samuel had breath enough, though, he asked for pen and ink and motioned to Dean for the parchment with the tale of Griff. Having received them all, he sat down at a table and added a line beneath Dean’s seal:

> _Addendum xviii. Feb. Todæg mid Goddes helpe cwellaþ min broðor Denu & ic þa deaðgodas & geafon frið & freodom to þam sawlum deaðweriga. Deo gratias. Soli Deo gloria. + Frater Samuel_ [1]

Standing behind him and reading, Dean squeezed his shoulder and smiled when Samuel looked around at him. “Thou speakest but of God’s help and mine?”

“All aid I have received hath been from God, even thine,” Samuel returned. “Other instruments have their reward and need no mention.”

“Oh, _do_ thou speak English....”

Samuel could not but laugh quietly and shake his head.

While they waited for Abbot Aelred, Samuel returned the remaining stake and bow and quiver to Dean, and they talked quietly of how to trap Brother Thomas with the aid of a gift Dean had once received from a _Sidhe_ doctor in Ireland.[2] The guestmaster also brought them each a piece of broiled fish, evidently at the abbot’s order, though Samuel’s was naturally smaller than Dean’s. A storm began to build about the abbey, though, as the demons finally regrouped.

“Art sure the storm shall do no harm an it should rain?” Dean asked quietly.

Samuel nodded. “After this time? Aye, rain shall do no harm.”

“Your pardon, Master Dean!” they heard suddenly as Abbot Aelred rushed into the room. “And thine, dear Brother Samuel! Indeed we are sorely beset this day, without and within, and I have only now been able to get away to join you. None too soon have ye come; many a thing goes unnaturally ill, and Brother Thomas has been proclaiming Samuel dead but now is in a towering rage and may yet kill someone.”

“Brother Thomas not the least, an we tarry,” Dean growled.

“We have a plan, dear Father,” Samuel stated. “But we shall need a most unusual dispensation from thee.”

Abbot Aelred looked warily from one brother to the other and sighed. “Speak ye quickly, then.”

* * *

A number of the monks had gathered in the abbey church to welcome Samuel home with their presence, though they might not speak, as Abbot Aelred walked with him back from the guesthouse. Brother Thomas was there, too, and Samuel caught the scent of sulfur just as Thomas stepped out of the shadows as they came near to the door to the cloister.

“Thou cheat!” Thomas cried. “Heathen, diviner, thou lawless scoffer! I shall—”

“Not,” Samuel replied.

And Dean, who bore the _Sidhe_ doctor’s hex bag to hide himself from the demon’s senses as he stood behind a pillar, dove at Thomas, catching him about the middle and knocking him through the door and into the cloister. As they landed, the sacristan threw a basin of holy water over both of them. Dean became no worse than wet, but the demon screamed as the water steamed away from his borrowed flesh. Then Dean dashed back into the church, past the barrier of sixteen years’ worth of blessed salt, as Samuel began the exorcism for the second time that day.

“Ye killed my father, ye worms, ye angel-friends, ye swords of Michael!” shrieked the demon, his borrowed eyes as black as coal. “I shall wreak that death on you![3] An ye send me hence, I shall find your father!”

“Shalt do no such thing,” replied Dean as Samuel continued the exorcism. “Shalt have long to plot in warmer climes, an those who sit above thee have their way, and thou wist well we shall have no father ere thou canst walk this earth again.”

Samuel’s heart skipped at these sayings, but he did not falter in his speech; he knew well that demons lie and that Dean had the Sight as surely as he himself did. He could only hope that Dean foreboded longer life for John than that word might seem to allow.

“Thy children, then!” the demon yelled and writhed in pain.

“Not so. Nay, my kin shall outlast thine.”

“Ha, think not so, Winchester! An ye kill me, there yet remains my sister—”

“... _audi **nos**_ ,” Samuel finished loudly, and the demon came out of Brother Thomas with a great cry.

Brother Thomas staggered but did not fall as Dean ran out to him and guided him into the church. And Samuel sensed the other demons fleeing—some in a gleeful rush to return to Hell and help repay their master for his failure, which Samuel did not wish to think on.

Abbot Aelred looked at Samuel in confusion. “Diviner? Sword of Michael? What meant he by these things?”

“Oh, devils lie,” said Dean lightly, sparing Samuel from answering. “Have ye some place where this poor wight might rest? After a month possessed, he shall need care.”

And Brother Thomas was indeed pale and in tears. “Good Brother Samuel, I prithee, pardon me... I wit but little of the demon’s deeds, but thee I know he wronged with words he spake with my voice.”

“’Twas none of thy doing, brother, and needs no pardon of mine,” said Samuel quietly. “Azazel’s child was strong, among the great in Hell. That he should overpower thee is no great shame.”

“Nay, had my heart been wholly God’s, he should have found no foothold. Brothers, Father Abbot, pray ye all God’s mercy for me, that I may amend!”

Abbot Aelred turned to two of the brothers who stood near at hand. “Take ye him to the warming room, and there let him rest until Vespers.”

They nodded and helped Brother Thomas out.

Then Abbot Aelred turned to Dean. “And again I cry your pardon, Master Dean. Will you let me show myself a better host now that this trial is ended?”

Dean shook his head. “My thanks, my Lord Abbot, but I have yet a vow to fulfill ere I may rest. I shall return in five days, though, by your leave, and break my journey here ere I go back to Oxenford.”

“Such leave you have, and welcome. We shall await you.”

“My thanks again. Be good, Sammy.”

“God speed thee and shield thee, Dean,” Samuel returned with a smile.

Dean smiled back and left.

* * *

Dean collected as many of his spent arrows as he could on the way back to Griff. Once there, he found the chill largely lifted and the frozen ground slowly turning to well-blessed slush. The sky was clear, as was the air, and he heard birdsong there for the first time in a week. He tied his horse to a tree, took a rope, hand pick, and candle from his pack, and cast about for a good-sized stone to anchor the rope. Another tree had an old paving stone resting among its roots, so Dean pried it loose and carried it to the well.

Coventina was waiting for him when he reached the well and held the stone for him while he tied the rope. Then she set the stone down and waited while Dean wrapped the rope about himself, lit the candle, and climbed onto the edge of the well. When he looked back, she had picked up the rope and stood ready to give him slack as he needed it. They nodded to each other, and Dean began his climb down into the well.

The coin was not so far down as he had feared, but getting it free of the stones took no little work. He had perforce to hold the candle in his teeth and almost dropped it twice. But the hole closed itself as he slipped the coin into his purse and the pick back into his belt, and Coventina pulled him back out rather more swiftly than he had expected. Yet even with this aid, the sun was lower than he should have liked when he came out. She understood his skyward look and made signs that he should go, and he nodded and returned to his horse. When he offered to help her to mount, though, she shook her head and disappeared. With a shrug, he slung himself into the saddle and turned the horse north once more, though not at a gallop.

That night he had bare time to reach Ingleby at the moors’ edge, but Coventina did not show herself at the inn there. Next day he rode on as straight across country as he might, stopping at Hamsterly for the night. Yet still no sign of the goddess did he see until he had reached Carrawburgh and found a safe place in the ruined shrine to place the coin. Then did she show herself, looking about the place in mingled joy and sorrow, but for Dean she had only a smile of thanks, which he answered with a bow.

Ere he could think how to take his leave, though, her smile changed—and such a smile could not have two meanings.

He shook his head and backed away. “Nay, great lady,” said he, forgetting she spoke no English. “I am betrothed and shall not fail my love.”

She stepped closer, and he backed into a wall. Ere he could find the door, she was before him, running a hand down his face.

“Nay, prithee—” He swallowed hard and sought the Latin words.

She reached for his belt.

“ _Sponsus sum!_ ” he cried at last.

She laughed lightly and let go of him, then said aught he could not quite understand. He caught _probatio_ —a test—and _monachus_ , monk, which made him redden a bit. Then slowly, she said in English, “Fare you well, hunter. May your life be long and your children many.”

He bowed again and left as quickly as he could.

Not until he was back in Hamsterly did he find that she had filled his purse with gold. So he bought himself an extra tankard of good ale and decided he should be most glad to spend Shrovetide at Rievaulx. At least there the only demands upon his person would be ones Joanna should approve!

* * *

[1] Addendum, February 18. Today with God’s help, my brother Dean and I killed the death-gods and gave peace and freedom to the souls of the dead. Thanks be to God. To God alone be glory. + Brother Samuel  
[2] W. B. Yeats describes fairy doctors as humans who had reportedly lived among the good fairies for a time before returning to mortal lands; they were often consulted for supernatural lore and cures for witchcraft. But the French-derived _fairie_ and _fae_ aren’t attested in Middle English before 1300, so I’ve gone with the Irish term _Sidhe_ here instead.  
[3] The Old English _wreccan_ means _avenge_.


	5. Chapter 4: Be It Ever So Humble

Dean had thought to stay at Rievaulx only through Ash Wednesday and then go back to Oxenford to make ready for the wedding. Yet the morning after, a letter arrived at the abbey for him, sent on by Brother Asce but signed by Sister Gwynedd, Mother Superior of the Nunnaminster in Winchester. _The Empress Matilda withdraws from this shire_ , she wrote, _and we hear that she is set to leave England so soon as the Channel is safe to cross. An thou hast found thy father, ’tis safe for ye to come see to thy mother’s soul. For she is seen almost nightly now, and it seems that aught disturbs her rest._

Abbot Aelred had dined with Dean every day during his stay so far and thus found him sighing over the letter. “Master Dean? What ails you?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Good my Lord Abbot, I... I wit well ye monks have strict rules for Lent, and I would not cause more unrest than I have done. And I wit well also that family cares are not cause enow for you to grant a brother leave to journey far—‘Let the dead bury their own dead’ and all that. But aught goes ill in Winchester, and I wit not whether I shall be able to effect the cure without Samuel.”

“Is’t personal, then?”

“Aye. Our... our mother’s soul is caught at the place of her murder. We wit not how or why. And now, belike for the same cause that brought the devils here of late, aught plagues her.” And Dean handed Aelred the letter.

Aelred read it and sighed heavily. “Hell is sorely angered by this quest ye undertook at the angels’ behest, it seems.”

“Aye. We are not so light to vex as they supposed, and our father is safe in the house of Father Seamus in Grentabrige, but Mother....”

Aelred nodded slowly. “Give me leave to pray on this matter until Sunday. Were this only a case of a family ghost, I should say you nay at once. But I would not give the Enemy of our souls cause to rejoice in doing your family further harm in this way.”

Dean nodded. “With a good will, milord. I ought to ask Sister Gwynedd for more details anyway, and I must write to Father, also.”

“Very well. I shall order parchment and pen brought to you after we dine.”

“My thanks.”

Their Lenten meal of fish and frumenty might have seemed poor fare to one unused to hunger, but sooth to say, Dean had no stomach for more and could scarce eat what he was served.

* * *

After Mass and dinner on Sunday, Abbot Aelred called Samuel to meet with him and Dean in the guesthouse. “I have had to pray long about this choice, Brother Samuel,” said he, “but thy brother’s heart’s foreboding is the same as mine. Thy service to the angels and to thy kin has yet one more stage to come.”

Samuel frowned. “What stage is that, Father?”

“Go thou to Winchester with Dean. He shall tell thee all.”

“Win—” Samuel broke off and looked at Dean. “Aught ails Mother’s spirit?”

Dean nodded. “I had word Thursday from Sister Gwynedd. Brother Asce shall have more for us in Oxenford.”

Samuel sighed and made the sign of the cross over himself. “Very well. When are we to leave?”

Dean looked at Abbot Aelred, who shrugged. “I would bid ye abide yet a week, through the Ember days, but I deem aught worse might befall an ye delay. Therefore go ye at once, and may God speed you.”

Then the brothers made ready to travel and took their leave of Abbot Aelred, mounted both on Dean’s bay—Dean in the saddle, Samuel behind—and rode off.

“Faith,” Samuel said once they were clear of the gate, “an we keep this up, I shall have to give up the habit and become a lay brother.”

Dean snorted. “What, only that and not rejoin me in full errantry? Bad food, lusty wenches with more teeth than sense, ha’penny ale and week-old _uisge beatha_....”[1]

“Dean.”

Dean chuckled. “Nay, little brother, I fathom thy mind better now. Art safe there, save for this late mess, and hast good work to do.” He paused. “Sooth, ’twould grieve me sore an things go further amiss and thou shouldst have cause to leave that life.”

Samuel studied him for a moment. “Art grown weary of the peril, brother?” he asked, but there was no mockery in his voice.

Dean sighed. “I wit not. Saving lives, that grows not stale, but such things as we have hunted of late... I wit not. Perchance once I am wed, I shall see things otherwise.”

“’Tis well thou art betrothed to Joanna. The hunt is in sooth her father’s trade and ever has been.”

“I would ’twere otherwise, Sammy. ’Tis no fit life for a maiden fair.”

“Let her not hear thee call her that.”

“Why not? She is.”

“Aye, and far deadlier with a bow than I.”

“Callest thou thyself a maid, Samantha?”

Samuel snorted and let the matter drop.

They stopped to rest in Coxwold, where Dean hired a horse for Samuel, and then went on to Easingwold for the night. Thence they made good time and arrived in Oxenford late on Thursday. Joanna had just left with Robert to see to a werewolf in Southwark, which Samuel thought was just as well, since it seemed Dean had not yet spoken to Abbot Aelred about the wedding. But John was there at the Eagle and Child already, as was a reply from Sister Gwynedd that included a letter of introduction that would allow them to stay at St. Cross Hospital just beyond the town and as clear a description of the events at their old manor as she had been able to obtain. And she had sent it, surprisingly enough, with Rufus.

“Lads, ye stirred the hornets’ nest but good,” said he. “I wit no more than the Reverend Mother set down here, but ’tis plain a hell-sprite is at work, and one we’ve no English name for. _Bell-ghost_ or _knell-ghost_ may be close, though ’tis naught to do with ringing.”[2]

John took the letter of introduction as Dean made ready to read the letter from Sister Gwynedd. “Why the hospital? Am not so ill as that, nor so poor.”

Samuel looked warily at Dean, who had as yet made no mention to John of Coventina or her gift.

Dean shook his head. “Father, who in Winchester save the Hospitallers shall ken us not?[3] We cannot stay at the Nunnaminster, and the Priory is more than half allied with the bishop, who is brother to the king and might look ill on thy return.”

“Had need of no such cautions last year,” John grumbled.

“Last year wert thou yet hale, and alone, as was I. Now are we all together—and if by some miracle thou and I should go unmarked, and if the Priory were safe enow for thee and me... Bishop Henry is of Cluny. Sammy is Cistercian. What welcome should there be for him there?”[4]

“Shouldst have left him in Yorkshire, then.”

That was too much for Samuel. “An ye could have done this without me, I _should_ have stayed in Yorkshire. ’Tis Lent, and I have much to do, not least because I have been so oft away of late. But Mother shall not rest without us all. So sayeth Dean; so sayeth my abbot; and so say I.”

“Sooth,” Dean agreed. “Aelred should else have said me nay, had I even asked. And I would not have done but for the warning in my heart that we might not wait to act.”

John sighed, set down the parchment he held, and rubbed his brow as if his head pained him. And for the first time, Samuel truly looked at his father. John’s outward wounds had healed well enough, but a short staff such as the aged used stood by his seat, and his beard was full of grey.

“Father, what ails thee?” he asked quietly.

“Naught ails me,” John snapped and reached for his ale. “Read thou, Dean.”

Dean waited until John’s nose was in his tankard to shoot Samuel a _So it goes_ roll of the eyes and unrolled the letter. To the parchment was attached a leaf of vellum on which was drawn the plan of the rebuilt manor. Sister Gwynedd’s letter was on the parchment beneath, telling of the new occurrences—foul odors, loud noises, cool wash-water suddenly scalding the kitchen maids, swords flying from their racks, tapestries seeking to smother passers-by. Some, she said, thought Mary’s ghost the cause of all these mishaps, but once at least the baron’s young daughter had seen a woman made of fire standing watch over her bed.

“Standing watch,” John murmured. “I wonder....”

“Not I,” said Rufus. “’Tis in her nature.” When John frowned at him, he continued, “What, wit ye naught of the Clan mac Duibne? ’Tis said no monster dare approach the Hillfoots, such mighty hunters are they.”

“Yet Azazel might have.” John rubbed his head again. “He claimed her sons were forfeit to him... what deal made she with him? Thought she that the angels would give her aid?”

“It matters not,” Dean said firmly. “We yet live, and he can trouble us no more. Rufus, what of the bell-ghost?”

Rufus sighed. “This thing is rare, as I have said. I know not of a certainty that the cure I wit shall suffice. But a cure I do wit. ’Tis one I learned in Africa long ago, when I had cause to hunt there.” He placed four small bags upon the table. “Thence come the makings of these bags, the which I should not tell you even were they not so rare. ’Tis strong magic and knowledge such as a monk should not have. But an ye place one bag each on one wall of the manor, so close as possible to north, south, east, and west, the bell-ghost should be quelled.”

“And Mother?”

“I wit not.”

Dean nodded and sighed.

“How come we into the house?” John asked.

“Sister Gwynedd hath seen to that,” Rufus answered. “The baron fears for his family, so they are gone to London. The steward knows that the Reverend Mother hath sent for help from Rievaulx, so ye twain should array yourselves like lay brothers sent to aid Brother Samuel. The steward then shall command the servants to aid you.”

“To place these things on the walls... they shall go best among the beams, is that not so?”

“’Twould be hard for them to be dislodged there, aye.”

“Then we shall have need of aid. I cannot climb, and we must move swiftly lest the bell-ghost seek to hinder us.”

Dean looked at Samuel and then at John. “Father, is thy leg....”

John shook his head. “Nay, nay, ’tis just... my head swims betimes. ’Tis naught. Let me see that plan o’ the house.”

Dean passed the plan to him, but Samuel needed not to see Dean’s eyes to know that their hearts foreboded alike. This hunt would be John’s last... and it would not be so simple as it seemed.

* * *

So eager was John to be gone that he insisted on leaving in the cold grey of morning, ere the moon had set and the sun risen. Dean tried to ask that they wait until after Lauds, but John would not be gainsaid, so Samuel had perforce to pray the Office under his breath as they rode. Nor would John hear of stopping short of Winchester save to rest the horses, though the journey was over fifty miles. He paid no heed even to his own weariness, cutting off any question should he grow pale or nod or come nigh to swooning with a curt, “’Tis naught, I am well.” It was as well to Samuel’s mind that it was an Ember day, as he had cause to fast until Vespers; but Dean was most displeased, though he said naught. The moon rose and the sun set, and still John would press on. Yet in the end it was he who suffered most for his haste, and only the force of his will held him in his saddle as they approached St. Cross a bare half hour before Compline.

Only then did John seem to fathom that as Samuel was the monk, he was answerable for the wellbeing of his “lay brothers.” But ere the master of the Hospitallers, by name Robert, could say a word of reproach to Samuel, Dean stepped in front of him, defending him as ever.

“Sister Gwynedd’s letter made the case sound most urgent,” said Dean. “We all deemed it best that we tarry no more than needed, lest anyone be hurt or killed by this fiend. But as we are strange to this shire, we did not judge the distance aright. And Brother John _did_ say that he was well enow to go on.”

Samuel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Brother, please. Let us break our fast, and then perchance these brothers would be so good as to see whether aught more than weariness and hunger ails Brother John.” And he fixed John with a stern look that forbade him to say _’Tis naught_ once more.

John did say it, but quietly and in Danish, which the Norman Hospitallers did not understand.

Master Robert frowned. “Speaks he any English?”

“Aye, milord, well enough,” John replied with a Northumbrian burr. “Had a mishap with a tree some time ago, but Aw am well.”

Dean and Samuel both gave the prior a look that said _You see?_

And Master Robert did see. “Well, come ye then and break your fast, though I deem aught else shall have to wait for the morrow. Compline is hard upon us, and I would fain permit you to keep the Great Silence.”

Father and sons nodded and followed the prior to the refectory. The meal they were served, though Lenten plain, was hot and filling, and at its end John did indeed seem refreshed and far less surly. He nodded betimes during Compline, but Dean woke him quickly. Yet once they had been seen to a room and were alone, John’s color waned, and Dean had to help him to a bed.

“Forgive me, lads,” John whispered. “Samuel, I... I wot not....”

“Shh, Da,” Samuel returned, covering him with a blanket. “Thy pains shall be penance enow. Rest thou while we may.”

“Would... would not shame thee....” But John was asleep ere he could finish the thought.

Dean snorted softly. “Mishap with a tree indeed.”

Samuel came near enough to lower his voice the more. “Aught ails his head, is that not so?”

“I was not sure, but so it seems. His leg, too—’twas wrenched from its place, and though Gabriel did mend that, it pains him ever and anon. But thou kenst the man.”

“Aye, no rest an he doth not bleed nor hath fever.” Samuel sighed. “Dean, he will not be well enow by Easter....”

Dean nodded. “I know. I know.”

“Hast spoken to Abbot Aelred?”

“Nay, not yet. Had thought to do so ere I left, but... well.”

“Mm. Well, but for this he might have found some way, but... I have read the Order’s rule myself. No woman may pass the abbey gate. And on that point I deem he shall not bend, not after all this.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Canst thou tarry with us ’til Father Seamus can come?”

“A day or two, belike. Shall I send for him tomorrow? Lay brothers may not write.”

“Aye, have him meet us in Oxenford. ’Tis very like he shall need a cart to bear Father home after all this, anyway. As the moon is not full ’til Sunday, Joanna and Robert must bide in London until Monday morn at least, so....”

“An we bide here as long, we shall arrive not long ere they do on Tuesday.”

“Provided we spend less time in the saddle, aye.” Dean shot a baleful glance at their sleeping father.

“’Tis a hundred miles or so hence to Grentabrige, so Father Seamus should meet us... Wednesday night?”

“Aye, an he tarry until Tuesday morn.”

“Then an ye wed on Thursday—”

“Nay, I’ll not make thee wait that long. So soon as we may on Wednesday.”

“Ye shall want rest on Thursday, though.”

Dean smirked.

“So Friday?”

“I think so, aye, an the weather holds. ’Twould get us back to Rievaulx by St. Patrick’s Day at the latest.”

“And month’s end an the weather turns.”

“Oh, Sammy. Come now, let’s to bed; thou’rt not to speak after Compline, and tomorrow shall have trouble enow.”

And that, thought Samuel, was likely indeed.

* * *

John could not rise for Matins and was slow to rise for Lauds, but Dean turned aside the prior’s questions as best he might, and Samuel gave signs that he should bear the penalty himself once they had returned to Rievaulx. Master Robert did worry about John’s health, though, and said one of his physicians should attend to him after the other tenants of the house were seen to. He also ordered pen and parchment for Samuel after Lauds; Samuel wrote to Father Seamus as quickly as he could and bade the messenger make haste.

Scarce had he sent the messenger on his way, however, when two men bore in a third who cried out in great pain. Samuel could see but little as the surgeons ran to aid them, but his heart misgave him, and he ran to fetch John and Dean. And sure enough, when they returned to the main room, the two who had brought in the sufferer looked at them and seemed to know John.

Yet to him they spoke not. Rather, one came to Samuel. “Are ye the brethren from Rievaulx that Sister Gwynedd sent for?”

“We are,” Dean answered. “The ghost hath done aught worse?”

“Aye. Let fall an axe as Grimbold passed; took half his arm. But he never did Her Ladyship no harm!”

“Nay, Brother Samuel deems these deeds are not Lady Mary’s doing. ’Tis a rare devil drawn by the murder, a bell-ghost. I shall fetch Brother Samuel’s pack, and we shall come at once.”

Samuel nodded his assent, and Dean ran off.

The servant frowned. “A devil? But... why should....”

“Lord Geoffrey is dead,” John said quietly. “And Hell is ill pleased.”

Both servants crossed themselves and said no more until Dean returned and all five left together. Outside they cleared the bloodstained straw out of the back of the wain in which they had brought Grimbold and set down clean blankets for the ‘brothers’ to sit on, then drove away with all speed.

When they were well away from other ears, the servant who had spoken turned to John. “How fares Your Lordship?”

“Ill enow, Ælfric, ill enow,” John replied with a chuckle. “How fare ye all?”

Ælfric shrugged. “Some well, some ill. His Lordship’s not a bad master, but not so good as you. We light candles for you when we have pennies to spare.”

“And greatly have we needed it,” Dean said.

“Now, art thou Master Dean, grown so tall?”

“Aye, but not so tall as Brother Sammy here.”

“Why, Master Samuel! Wert but a babe when last I saw thee! Gone for the Church i’sooth?”

Samuel nodded. “Aye, but Dean and Father have God’s work to do as well, though they have taken no orders. ’Twas Dean killed Lord Geoffrey.”

“With thy help and the angels’,” Dean noted.

“So Lady Mary is avenged i’sooth,” Ælfric said. “Saints be praised. And ye come all to quell this... bell-ghost, sayest thou, Master Dean?”

“Aye, to quell it and to bid Mother rest.”

“Well, we shall be glad to see it. And no, none shall know of your coming until ye be well away.”

“My thanks, good Ælfric,” said John. “Would that I could repay thy faithful service.”

Ælfric smiled. “No need o’ that, milord. No need at all.”

Once they arrived at the manor, Ælfric did all the talking in dealing with the steward and the lads who were to place the bags in the beams. John had but to tell them where and bid them run, and run they did. All father and sons had to do was wait.

But the bell-ghost would not go quietly. Ere long Samuel sensed it moving into the great hall, where they stood, and he was still pouring a salt circle when Dean went flying backward, striking a wall hard, and a banner rent itself from its post and wrapped about John’s throat. Samuel flung salt toward the banner, but it did no good. Yet it was but a moment later that it seemed the last bag was placed, for bright white light flashed through the manor, and then all was still.

Samuel swiftly freed John and ran to Dean, who was just coming out of a swoon. And he was near enough to see Dean, his eyes open but unseeing, frown ever so little and hear him murmur, “Zelda Rubenstein?”

“Dean? Dean, hast seen aught?”

“A... a flash... what was....”

“Who?”

“Young Dean... ‘Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing. The house should be clean; it should be over.’” Dean met Samuel’s eyes then and needed not to say what they both heard in that saying.

“Rufus did say....”

“Aye, but an it....”

“Perchance Mother shall know an we see her.”

“Aye.”

John hobbled over to them with Ælfric’s help. “Lads?” he croaked. “Are ye well?”

Samuel helped Dean to rise. “Aye, but Dean hath seen aught. We must needs stay until after nightfall to watch for Mother.”

No sooner had he said so than he himself had a vision of fire sweeping through the great hall, consuming not the slain, as in John’s tale of Mary’s death, but the living who could not find escape. A rough shake brought him back to Dean’s fearful face, and he gasped for breath.

“What hast thou seen?” Dean asked.

“Keep... keep everyone... out of the hall....” Samuel had no breath to say more.

“Aye, milord, I shall see to it,” said Ælfric. “But what of ye? ’Tis here Her Ladyship walks most oft.”

“We shall stay and guard ourselves,” John answered. “Have someone bring us food and drink ere ye set watch on the doors.”

“Aye, milord, straight away.” Ælfric ran off.

John put a hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “The bell-ghost is not quelled, then?”

Samuel shook his head. “Weakened. Not gone.”

“What hast thou seen?”

“Fire. The servants... all trapped.”

“Not if the lord of the manor has aught to say on’t. Dean? Salt lines.”

“Aye, Father,” Dean said with a nod and ran to obey.

Ælfric returned with bread and cheese and wine, setting them on the high table, then left to set mortal watch outside the doors while Dean laid salt lines to block them from within.

“There,” John said when Dean had finished. “An it be that both spirits tarry here, as seems most like, we shall at least have spared the rest of the house; an it be not so, we shall at least have one safe place to bide. Now here let us rest and wait.”

So they did—but Dean kept close watch upon the wine, lest any of them (namely John) grow drunk. Yet weariness overtook John ere the wine could, and he slept upon a bench while Dean kept watch and Samuel prayed the Hours quietly.

Night fell, and with it a deep sense of dread. Dean woke John to eat a hurried meal, but scarcely had they finished when the table began to rock as the bell-ghost returned. John sliced at the air with an iron knife, only to be flung against the wall behind the dais and pinned there. Dean dove for a poker and Samuel for the salt, but the bell-ghost caught Samuel and pinned him to the floor.

Then, with a bright flare of flame, Mary appeared behind the high table.

“Mary,” John gasped at the same time Dean sobbed, “Mummy....”

Mary crossed to John and kissed him gently, then stooped to caress Samuel’s face. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” she breathed. Then she walked across the room, heedless of tables or benches, to where Dean stood. “I’m so sorry, Dean. But one last time... help Mummy?”

“Ever shall I,” Dean whispered.

Mary smiled, then drew herself up to her full height as the fire before them began to grow perilously. Raising her arms, she chanted in Gaelic, and a dark form took shape amid the smoke above the flames. It struggled and raged but could not escape as the power of Mary’s spell hedged it about. And Dean readied the poker to strike.

“Now, Dean!” she cried at last.

Dean swung the iron through the darkness, and it sparked and shrieked like Azazel had when Dean had shot it, and with a burst of yellow light it was destroyed.

He turned to her then. “Mother, how....”

“Part _Sìth_ ,”[5] she answered with a weary smile. “A small part, but enough that I may command things that most cannot.”

John hobbled to the table as Samuel rose. “Mary,” said John, “we would thou shouldst know... thou art avenged. The yellow-eyed devil is dead.”

She began to cry. “I knew not what he wanted. Ten years, he pledged, freedom and rest and marriage to thee, and he should take aught I held dear in payment and leave us in peace thereafter. I prayed the saints and the holy angels protect you all, but....”

“They did, Mother,” Samuel said quietly. “’Twas with their aid we saw him dead.”

“And... are ye all....”

“Only I. Father and Dean hunt, and Dean is soon to wed.”

She sobbed. “Saints be praised ye are all well. I did not want such a life for my children, but an ye are well... then ’tis well. I may rest, but I wit not... Samuel, canst... canst thou....”

Samuel nodded and recited the rite of extreme unction, and Mary wept throughout for joy and for rue, as did John and Dean.

At its end, she raised her hand in blessing. “Fare ye well, my loves.” And she faded from their sight.

John sank down into a chair and wept mightily, as Dean and Samuel had never seen him do. They could not but shed tears of their own. But so strongly did John weep that he was fully spent when he had done, and Dean had perforce to ask Ælfric to bear them back to the hospital in the wain. 

* * *

[1] Gaelic phrase (Latin _aqua vitae_ ; lit. “water of life”) from which we get the English name for the substance: _whisky_.  
[2] I had a deuce of a job trying to reverse-engineer this name! _Poltergeist_ did not enter the English lexicon until _18_ 48, and while _Geist_ is easy enough to translate (OE _gæst_ , ModE _ghost_ ), the oldest form of the German verb _poltern_ comes only from Late Middle High German (think 14th-15th century). These forms are based on the Old English verbs _bellan_ , to make loud noise, and _cnyllan_ , to knock.  
[3] St. Cross was run by the Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, aka the Knights Hospitaller or the Knights of Malta. The Hospitallers were the first military monastic order formed during the Crusades.  
[4] Cluny was founded in 910 as the first Benedictine abbey to undertake major reform. By 1148 it was hugely influential in the Roman Church, wealthy, focused on prayer to the exclusion of other work, but still proud of its reformed heritage—and contemptuous of the rival reformers of Cîteaux, founded in 1098 with the goal of pursuing strict observance of the Rule of Benedict. (The feeling was mutual!) St. Swithun’s Priory was not part of the quasi-feudal system of monasteries ruled by Cluny, but Henry of Blois, then the bishop of Winchester, had been educated at Cluny and maintained a close relationship with its current abbot, Peter the Venerable.  
[5] Fairy (this term is Scots Gaelic, equivalent of the Irish _Sidhe_ ).


	6. Chapter 5: How Forever Feels

It was as well that the brothers had already agreed to stay at St. Cross until Monday. John was too weak to rise even for Mass on Sunday and had a touch of fever, though low enough not to require blood-letting, and Dean and Samuel were too sick at heart to care for him as well as the Hospitallers did. They ate little and spoke less, and Samuel spent much of the day in prayer.

After Vespers the brothers knelt beside John’s bed while the Hospitallers were away. “Shalt be well enow to travel on the morrow?” Samuel asked.

“It matters not,” John replied. “We must away lest the new baron find us here.”

“Then by thy leave,” said Dean, “I shall send for Ælfric. He said yesternight that he should be glad to drive us back to Oxenford.”

“Nay, I can ride—”

“Da, hast forgotten how thou camest to be thus? An perchance thou art so well tomorrow, ’twould not be wise for thee to fare so far as Whitchurch.”

“And I deem Master Robert shall not give thee leave to ride so soon,” Samuel added. “He should have less cause to think ill of me an we go by wain.”

John sighed heavily. “Forgive me, lads; my head is none too clear. Ælfric, sayest thou?”

Dean nodded.

“Good lad, Ælfric. Stout lad. Aye, hast my leave, Dean.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Rest now, Da, and let us care for all.”

John nodded and fell asleep again.

* * *

Ælfric proved a cheerful and talkative driver, gladly caring for the horses the family had ridden as well as he cared for his current lord’s and keeping the journey back to Oxenford from being as grim and silent as the journey to Winchester had been. The day of rest had helped John greatly, and his fever had broken sometime after Matins, so he was well enough to laugh and talk with Ælfric. Yet both his leg and his head seemed to trouble him, and at one stop he had perforce to tell Dean he was glad not to need to ride.

They fared as far as Abingdon ere Ælfric called a halt for the night, and they easily reached the Eagle and Child by mid-morning the next day. Ellen came out into the yard as Samuel and Dean were helping John out of the wain, and at once she began to scold him even as she took his arm about her shoulders and led him into the inn. Such a fuss made she that Ælfric’s eyes seemed like to pop out of his head.

“Is that His Lordship’s new wife?” he asked Dean quietly.

Both brothers snorted. “Nay,” said Dean. “’Tis only Ellen.”

“Well, the name fits. She is a bold one.”[1]

Samuel had to cough to keep from laughing.

By the time the lads had seen to their gear and horses, Ellen—still scolding—had set John in a cushioned chair by the fire and was bringing him food and ale. John seemed unsure whether to laugh or shout. And in a corner, Rufus and Brother Asce were fighting hard to seem more interested in the book Brother Asce was copying than in laughing at them.

Ælfric had no such qualms and laughed heartily. “Well, milord, it seems I leave you in good hands.”

John could not but laugh. “My thanks again, good Ælfric. Fare thee well.”

Ellen waited until Ælfric was gone to take up her speech again. “Sooth, John, how shalt thou go to York when faring hence to Winchester hath worn thee so?”

John groaned. “Ellen....”

“Ellen, there shall be no need,” said Dean. “We cannot wed at Rievaulx even were Father well enough. We sent for Father Seamus; he shall be here on the morrow.”

No sooner had he said that than the door opened and Robert and Joanna walked in. Joanna gasped and with a cry of “ _Dean!_ ” ran sobbing to his arms.

“Here, now, love,” Dean said, holding her tight. “Have not been away so long as that, surely?”

“Nay,” Robert answered, “nor was the were so hard to slay. His Lordship the Baron of Winchester took her for a maiden of the town, an ye take my meaning,[2] and would be gainsaid only by a dagger’s blade, and then only by proof upon his person that she can wield it. He shall bear the scar to his shame, I trust.”

Dean and John both cursed at the same time, and Dean tightened his hold on Joanna.

Ellen came over to lay a motherly hand on Joanna’s back. “Father Seamus cometh tomorrow, thou sayest?”

Dean nodded. “Aye, and I would he could come sooner.”

Joanna hiccupped and looked up at him. “But Dean....”

“The banns are asked, Joanna, and ’tis best for us all an we wed now. We are all here anyway, save Cynehunde, who must mind the forge for Robert. But I’ll let no man touch thee henceforth.”

She hiccupped again, though with a shaky smile, and pressed her head against his shoulder again.

“Half do I wish we had left the bell-ghost to pull the house down about the cutthroat’s ears,” John snarled. “’Tis none o’ his by right, anyhow.”

“Aye,” Samuel countered, “and have Ælfric and the rest end up like poor Grimbold, who shall do well to live the week without his arm?”

“Mind thy tongue, Samuel.”

“Father, ’tis done. And what hope should Joanna have of a man so lordly as Dean wert thou still baron instead of this wretch?”

Dean reddened and ducked his head so that his cheek rested on Joanna’s head. Joanna hiccupped again, though this time it sounded like a laugh.

John studied them a moment, and his face softened. “Sooth, nor I so fine a daughter as she. Mary....” His voice caught. “Mary should have loved her, too.”

Samuel’s voice gentled. “Come now, Da, we shall have time enow for tears on the morrow.”

“Aye,” said Brother Asce, “and belike blood and sweat for some of us.”

“Asce!” cried Joanna, and the mingled groans and laughter of the others echoed to the roof.

* * *

Dean and Joanna were well nigh inseparable for the rest of the day, holding hands when they might not embrace, seeming to take comfort from each other’s touch. John and Robert each told the tales of their hunts, and Rufus and Brother Asce took Samuel aside to ask for more details about the bell-ghost. But the soul-wounds bled through both Dean’s looks and Joanna’s, and Samuel knew not whether to be glad they had one another or to be sorry that he could not offer such comfort to his brother.

When they had parted from the company for the night and were in their room above the stables, however, Dean turned to Samuel. “Forgive me, brother. I have forsaken thee this day.”

Samuel shrugged. “Joanna had need of thee, and thou of her.”

“Aye, but thou hast cares enow of thine own, and I gave no thought to thee.” Dean sighed. “I do not love thee less for loving her the more. Thou wist that, aye?”

And now the words were said, Samuel knew he had needed to hear them. He nodded. “Nor I thee the less for loving the Church the more.”

“That wit I right well.” Dean smiled a bit. “Art here.”

Samuel smiled sadly. “Shall not ever be. But thou hast Joanna, and she... faith, Dean, she is to be thy mate, thy helpmeet. Thou and she shall be one in ways thou and I can never be.” He paused, then put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I do not grudge thee that, nor envy thee for what I have renounced. And ’tis _thy_ line shall save the world, whatsoe’er befall. I shall rejoice rather, and spend my days in prayer for you twain.”

Dean’s eyes were bright, and he pulled Samuel into a rough hug. “Then shake thou Heaven’s windows, brother mine.”

“That shall I, with a good will, and evermore.”

Dean sniffled and let Samuel go. Then he went and took aught from his pack and brought it to Samuel. “Wilt thou bear this for me until the proper time?”

Samuel gasped when he saw the silver ring wrought with protective signs and the sapphires and rubies set therein. Dean had told him not a week before that he had sought a ring in Nazareth, but all had been beyond his means. “ _Dean!_ How... where....”

“Ælfric gave it to me. He had sought it out of the treasury while we waited for Mother—’twas in her dower, he deems, for he had seen her wear it on feast days. ‘Belike I shall suffer for this,’ said he, ‘but I deem it wrong thou shalt have naught of thy inheritance.’”

“Oh, blessed Ælfric!” Samuel undid the rosary from its place on his belt, tied it about the ring, and put it back so that his robe might hide the silver. “There, it shall keep there well enow until tomorrow.”

Dean grinned, then ran a hand over his face. “Faith, I wit not whether I shall sleep this night.”

“Shalt not sleep tomorrow night.”

Dean hit Samuel on the shoulder and laughed.

* * *

The next day Ellen set Samuel to work helping her prepare the bridal feast while John and Dean talked long and low and Robert and Rufus took heed to the guests who stopped in. Those whose presence they deemed unsafe were warned away by various tales, but those whose goodwill was known to the hunters were told of the wedding, and no few wished the couple well ere Joanna retired to her room to make herself ready. Dean, too, retired not long after and returned wearing his best tunic and surcoat.

Father Seamus arrived at nightfall—and on his heels a storm. “We shall not be safe at the church door, I deem,” said he. “Had ye hopes of a Mass?”

Dean sighed. “Sooth, Father, I gave it no thought. But Father and I are still outlawed, so....”

“’Twould be unwise, aye. The banns were risk enough.” Father Seamus turned to Ellen then. “Well, lack we aught but the bride?”

Ellen chuckled. “Nay, Father. I shall fetch her.”

Samuel stood at Dean’s side as Ellen left and returned with Joanna, who was clad in a new blue kirtle that made her eyes shine, her hair unbound about her shoulders. Dean’s gulp was audible, and Samuel squeezed his shoulder to steady him. By some miracle, they said their vows with nary a stumble, though Samuel wondered betimes whether either of them heard a word in sooth. And somehow Joanna did not swoon when she saw the ring, though many others in the room did gasp.

Then made they merry while the rain fell, and none marked when Dean and Joanna made their escape to the room above the stables. The only sour note was sounded at the end of the evening, when Samuel saw how very drunk John was and rued the fact that he had chosen to spend the night in his father’s room. Yet John said little to Samuel once they were alone, and naught in anger; rather, he called out ever and anon to Mary and wept until he slept. And he slept much of the next day, which was as well, for the rain did not let. A very jolly Dean did return to the common room for food to take back with him, but else he spent the day alone with Joanna.

And Samuel, for lack of aught better to do, sought a quiet corner and prayed.

The rain had let somewhat by Friday morning, but Father Seamus feared to tarry longer lest he not return to Grentabrige in time for Mass on Sunday. So Dean and Samuel gathered John’s gear for him and helped Father Seamus put a cover on the cart he had brought, then returned to the common room to take their leave of John, who was finally sober. Though John jested lightly with Dean, he had only words of loving farewell for Samuel.

Samuel drew John into a hug. “Art ever welcome at Rievaulx, wist thou. Ever, an thou art well enow to come.”

“I thank thee, Samuel, truly. And glad I am thou art so well bestowed. Fare thee well.”

“And thee, Father.” Samuel could not but shed a tear. “God bless thee and keep thee ever.”

But as the cart at last pulled away from the inn, Samuel knew in his heart that he had looked his last upon his father in this life. And he could not but weep.

“Here, now,” said Dean, rubbing Samuel’s back gently. “Hast said thy farewell, and in it were no words of anger. ’Tis better thus than hadst thou not helped me find him.”

Samuel nodded. “Yet still would I that he live long and well.”

“I know.” Dean pulled him into a hug, and the rain fell harder.

* * *

As wet as it was, the brothers agreed to tarry in Oxenford until after Mass on Sunday, giving Dean a few more days with Joanna and giving the roads time to dry. The rain finally stopped Friday night, but the ground was still sodden when they left. And more storms beset them on the road, so it was nigh on the Feast of the Annunciation when at last they reached Rievaulx, having of course returned Samuel’s hired horse to the stable in Coxwold. But no more demons did they see, nor was there word of aught awaiting them when they arrived; the weather was but normal for the time of year. Their ordeal, it seemed, was over and done in sooth.

Dean stayed through Annunciation Day and left the morning after, with a warm farewell and many promises to return with or without John. And as Samuel watched Dean ride away, he took a deep breath and felt peace settle into his soul. He was home at last, and Dean at least he should see again ere long.

Yet somehow, though the peace was true, he did not feel wholly at rest. The visions they had seen of what was, the future they had spared no pains to prevent, troubled him. And he had still the sense that there was aught else left for them to do. The ordeal might be over; the tale, he deemed, was not.

And perchance—just perchance—he might see the angels once more after all.

* * *

[1] Although the name is Greek in origin (from _Helen_ ), _ellen_ is an Anglo-Saxon noun meaning “zeal, strength, courage”—all of which describe Ellen pretty well!  
[2] Southwark was technically a separate town from London but served as London’s entertainment district for many years. It’s most famous to us as the location of the Globe Theater, but there were—ahem—other forms of entertainment available there as well, even before the advent of modern professional theater.


	7. Epilogue

When the angels left Rievaulx, Gabriel surprised Castiel by not taking him directly back to the future. Instead, they went to the future site of Lawrence, still on the same day, and stopped.

Castiel looked around. “Why are we here?”

Gabriel sighed. “Look, you know what a wrench it is even going thirty-five years and even with the full strength of the Host to draw on. And you’ve got some idea how much work it was for me to get us back this far. The trouble with going forward is that we haven’t created a closed loop; we’ve spawned off a new timeline. It’s still ironing itself out. And that would make it twice as hard to jump forward all at once. So... Dad suggested we go a century at a time. Stop, let knowledge of what happened catch up with us, see as far ahead as we can, make sure things are still going the right way. And by that I mean the real right way, not what Zach and Mike used to think was the right way.”

Castiel stared. “You have spoken to Father?”

“More like He spoke to me. But yeah, we... we had a long talk back in Nazareth.”

“Was He displeased?”

“With the Loki schtick, yeah. With this? Nah. Said He wants us to keep the lid on that hellmouth in Ilchester at all costs and support Sam and Dean as much as we can.”

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and Gabriel gave the back of his neck a fond squeeze. “All right, then. Hundred-year leaps it is.”

Gabriel nodded and moved his hand to Castiel’s shoulder, and they jumped.

Over the first few centuries, not much seemed to change. The Winchester family grew and spread as it should, as did Clan Campbell, and major historical events occurred on schedule. There were some differences in demonic activity, but they were slight. In fact, the biggest changes resulted from that retaliatory attack on Rievaulx in 1148, what with Azazel’s son “Tom” being exorcised and the anti-possession sigil on Dean and Samuel confusing the lower ranks of demons to the point that many thought angelic vessels were possession-proof. Castiel couldn’t say he was sorry about either development.

By 1848, though, both angels began to sense trouble. Tom was close to escaping from Hell again, and he was likely to try to use the upcoming Bleeding Kansas days as cover for wiping out the Winchester line in Lawrence if he could find the family there. It took some doing to use foresight to track all the individuals involved, but when Castiel offered a plan he thought Sam and Dean would approve of, Gabriel gave him a Trickster grin, and they left the near-future site of Lawrence to put it into action.

When they landed outside Topeka in 1857, Gabriel had to coach Castiel on how to change his manner of dress and how to hide his nature. That done, though, they made their way to a saloon and reached it just as Chronos came out with a barmaid who had no idea she was about to be consumed by the god. Chronos and Gabriel acknowledged each other with a nod and a smirk, and the angels went inside and made their way to the bar. There they each ordered a beer and settled in to wait.

Castiel had just finished his first beer and was contemplating ordering a second when Tom came in, wearing a cattle rustler. Gabriel’s smirk grew as the demon spotted them, and he raised his mug in greeting. Tom took the hint and walked over.

“Well, well,” said Gabriel. “If it’s not Tom Tom the Piper’s Son.”

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Tom snarled.

“Just passin’ through. You?”

“I’ve got a score to settle in this territory. The Winchesters.”

“Winchesters?” Gabriel scoffed. “Tom, that’s ancient history. Trying to avenge that death after all this time would only raise some eyebrows with the God Squad.”

“I don’t care. They killed my father.”

“What you’re forgetting is that your dad wasn’t just out to end that bloodline. He had an actual mission... a mission no one else has taken up on your side.”

“Which was?”

“Hellmouths, kid. Hellmouths. You find the right one, you can open a line to the Cage. And once you do that, ol’ Peacock-britches can tell you how to bust him out.”

“So, I’ll take out the Winchesters first and then look into hellmouths.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What do you care?”

“I don’t. The angels can go hang for all I care. But from what I hear, Luci’s vessel has to come from the same line as Michael’s.” And Gabriel took a long drink of beer.

Tom studied Gabriel for a moment. “Where would I find the nearest hellmouth?”

Gabriel swallowed and shrugged. “We’re pretty new here ourselves, don’t know the geography too well. Most of our crew are up in Minnesota still. But Coyote was telling us about this one... what was the name of that town, Helblindi?”

“Sunrise,” Castiel supplied.

“That’s it, right. Twenty miles from Sunrise, in... well, I guess it’s Nebraska Territory right now.”

Tom nodded, then leaned closer. “If this is a trick, Loki, I’ll be looking for you.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow and his mug, and Tom vanished. Then Gabriel ordered Castiel another beer. “Well played, little bro,” he told Castiel quietly.

Castiel frowned. “Shouldn’t we....”

“Just making sure.”

So they sat and drank a while longer, just until they felt the shockwave of Tom running into Samuel Colt.

“All right, muttonhead,” Gabriel said then, putting down his mug and tossing some change onto the bar. “Let’s make tracks for Ilchester.”

“Ilchester?”

“Sure. It’s not that far.” And Gabriel winked.

And Castiel understood that he meant to go on to 1972. “I suppose not.”

As they walked out of the saloon together, Gabriel clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Gotta hand it to you, kid. That? Was one _hell_ of a great trick.”

Castiel could only smile.

**Explicit Libri Secundi Gestum Angelorum Gabriel et Castiel  
Fratrorumque Decanum et Samuel**


End file.
